


The Story of Hazel Knight; Book Four - Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes

by CaspyCasp



Series: The Story of Hazel Knight [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 171,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaspyCasp/pseuds/CaspyCasp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hazel is back for the fourth year.<br/>It's yet another year, and there's more excitement in store for the students of Hogwarts.<br/>Yet another mystery set to unravel, with darkness and evil closer than ever before.<br/>Love can be blind, but sometimes it can be blinded by friendship.</p><p>Part Four of 'The Story of Hazel Knight'</p><p>Titles:<br/>I Love Magic - Book One<br/>More Danger and More Mysteries - Book Two<br/>Crushes are the Worst - Book Three<br/>Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes - Book Four<br/>Ours - Book Five<br/>Distance Means Nothing - Book Six<br/>Until the Very End - Book Seven</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, I would like to iterate that this is not my story. I did not write it, so I own nothing.  
> It is originally written on Quotev by bucky kentucky, and you can find her profile at www.quotev.com/arcticmaryams
> 
> I own nothing. All things Harry Potter related belong to J.K. Rowling, and anything else belongs to bucky kentucky.
> 
> Thank you.

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter One: Thinking of You**

 

' _This is getting ridiculous,_ ' he thought to himself, as he looked around the familiar huge, empty room, yet again. ' _ **She** is getting ridiculous. Why did she have to keep taunting him all the time_?' _  
_

"Come and catch me," she whispered tauntingly in his ear, before turning and running off again.

' _Why the fuck did she have to keep doing that? Didn't she know that she was frustrating him to no end? And why did he keep falling for it, and run after her each time, when he knew exactly what the outcome would be_?'

"Wait! Come back!" he called after her, and started to run. "Stop doing that, for fuck's sake."

She turned back to look at him, smiling evilly, and replies with a simple. "No," before turning around and running faster, her long, dark hair dancing behind her.

Why did she have to be so frustrating? Sighing, he ran after her as fast as he could, but whenever he sped up, so did she. Whenever she was in his reach, she would dance out of it again, leaving him more frustrated than ever. She was usually extremely clumsy, but now she was graceful as anyone, and never slowed down once. She eventually met a dead end, and turned to run again, but he grabbed her wrist, and pinned her to the wall, smiling triumphantly.  _Finally_. It had taken ages.

She didn't look even remotely upset that she had been caught, when since the first time, she had been putting all her effort into not getting caught. In fact, she looked positively pleased.

"It's about time," she whispered, smirking up at him.

He should've felt angry that she was just trying to wind him up, and all along, she wanted this to happen, but he just felt pleased. He leaned in, but just before his lips finally met hers, after ages of pursuing her, there was a loud snoring noise, and Fred woke up with a jolt.

Confusion was his first initial emotion. Then frustration. He had nearly done it. Something he had tried to do for several nights, and then just as he was about to kiss her, something wakes him up. George's snores. He had to resist the urge to throw something.

This was pathetic. He, Fred Weasley, someone who could usually charm any girl he wanted, couldn't even kiss the girl he fancied in his dreams. He supposed he really did fancy her. He tried denying it to himself for a while, but a few nights ago he had to admit it.

There was no other explanation for how she would cross his mind at the most random moments. And these dreams about her... If he didn't fancy her, he wouldn't repeatedly be having dreams about her, where he tried desperately to at least kiss her once.

After his frustration ebbed away, he lay back down, and stared at his ceiling, lost in thought about her. She was so pretty. It was a shock he didn't truly realize it until a while ago. She was probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Long, dark hair... Gorgeous, warm brown eyes... A smile so bright it could easily light up his dark bedroom.

And her personality. He couldn't believe that he didn't realize that she's exactly what he's been looking for in a girl. Why was he so blind?

But why  _her_? Out of all the girls in Hogwarts, why did it have to be  _her_? Why did it have to be one of his best friends? Someone who wouldn't ever think of him that way. She probably saw him as a brother. He didn't blame her. He treated her like a sister for nearly three years, after all. What else could he expect? For her to randomly fall in love with him? No, sadly, Fred Weasley only had his dreams in which he could be with her, and even then she was impossible to get. And in real life, impossible to get she was. Other guys, like Fred, were starting to realize that she truly was so beautiful. They were starting to come to their senses and see how perfect she was too. Not loads and loads of them, but to Fred, there were way too many of them. A couple weeks before the last term ended, he saw some Hufflepuff in her year blatantly staring at her with his mouth open during dinner.

Besides, a girl like her would have high standards. Or at least she should. She wouldn't settle for him. Fred knew it. There are so many guys in Hogwarts, and he knew, however much he wanted to believe otherwise, that she would never see him as anything more than a brother.

But, sometimes, when he thought long and hard about their times together, it did seem like she thought of him as more than that. Like that tome they almost kissed when they won the Quidditch Cup. She seems quite happy to kiss him, even if it was just a victory kiss.

And their little moments. Like when they were extremely close together on the first day of exams. Why was she so nervous? Jokingly, at the time, he had made it seem like she was thoroughly enjoying herself, but now, looking back, he wasn't even sure if that was just discomfort.

And those other times they were close to kissing. Did she was to kiss him? He really couldn't see why else someone would get so flustered. I mean, it is an embarrassing and rather awkward position to get caught in with one of your best friends, but still...

' _But she already told you how she felt about you_ ," Fred reminded himself sternly, not wanting to get his hopes up. ' _Ages ago. And she only thinks of_ _you as a friend. Nothing more._ '

' _But then again,_ ' a much more positive part of him said to himself. ' _You said you didn't fancy her first. She might've only said that so things weren't awkward. Besides, it's like you said, it was ages ago. You like her now, don't you? Maybe she feels different too_.'

Fred definitely liked this positive side to him, but at the same time, he didn't want to get his hopes up only to be disappointed. And chances are, he would be disappointed if he got his hopes up. This way, he could only get what he expected, or something better. Something  _way_ better.

' _She doesn't like you,_ ' that realistic voice said firmly. ' _So don't go getting your hopes up. You'll only end up heartbroken._ '

' _You're thinking too much, Freddie,_ ' he thought to himself after a while, even though he knew he could control thinking about her about as much as he can control the sun going up everyday. ' _Go to sleep._ '

He turned over, and closed his eyes, still thinking about her in spite of himself. Eventually, Fred fell asleep with her still on his mind, but didn't dream about her again.

Little did Fred Weasley know, that miles and miles away, that girl that Fred fancied so much, was finally drifting asleep, with him in her thoughts as well. Fred Weasley didn't know that Hazel Knight, that perfect girl for him, was finally falling asleep, because she had stayed up, unable to sleep, because she was thinking about him just as much as he was thinking about her.


	2. He's On My Mind, Once Again

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Two: He's On My Mind, Once Again**

 

I wake up with a very vague dream in mind. It was nice. That's all I can remember. But what was it about? Fred finds his way into my mind, and I wonder if I dreamt about him. Wouldn't be the first time...

I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes blearily, and walked over to the mirror, staring into it blankly. But I didn't even take in my appearance for a while. Then I finally give up trying to find out exactly what I dreamt about, and allowed myself to be pleased that it was a good dream, and not a nightmare.

 _Why would he like me, anyway?_ I think to myself for the billionth time.  _Who in their right mind would_ ever _like_ me _? That's right, nobody. I'm nothing special. Nobody anybody would love. Especially someone like Fred. I'm too boring and plain for him. Maybe I'm someone he'd look for in a friend, yes, but in a girlfriend? No chance._

" _Give yourself some more credit_ ," that tiny little voice that has basically been giving me advice on my love life. " _I think he's starting to come to his senses and realize you're perfect for him._ "

"Maybe that other voice is right," I mumble. "Maybe you are off your rocker."

" _Hey, I'm you,_ " the voice points out. " _So if I'm off my rocker, so are you._ "

"Good point," I mutter. "But why would you even think I had a chance with him...?"

" _I just have a feeling he'll come around really soon, if he hasn't already,_ " the voice says. " _Trust me on this, okay_?"

"No," I tell it flatly. "I'm not going to trust you on this one. I'm not going to get my hopes up only to be let down."

" _But-_ "

"No," I say firmly, and the small voice seems to give up.

I'm going mental. Talking to myself lie that. Blimey...

Finally, I snap out of it and finally take in my appearance. A fairly short, somewhat skinny girl of fourteen stares back at me. I look a little groggy as I just woke up, and my long dark black hair is really messy. I rub my eyes blearily, and open my dark brown eyes a bit wider.

What I see in the mirror completely demolishes any bit of hope I had left. I never used to think I'm ugly, but now... Now I can't help but wonder if I got uglier over the years or I just wasn't able to see how terrible looking I am until now. I can't find a single good quality about myself. Especially nothing that would make Fred notice me as something different than a sister.

I tear my eyes away from the depressing sight, and flop back down into bed, sighing, now in a thoroughly bad mood. Why him? Out of all the people, why  _him_? Someone how has  _no_ chance of liking me. He has tons of girls who're crazy about him. Why would he choose me? I'm nothing special. Hell, I'm nothing, end of story.

But then again, it's obvious why it's him... My God, he's amazing... He's kind - when he wants to be - funny, outgoing, sweet, and, well, he's really attractive... and he's really sort of protective over me. It's sort of cute. And sometimes it doesn't really seem like in a brotherly way. But I'm probably just delusional.

" _You're not delusional! He likes you!_ " the voice insists.

"Oh, you're back," I grumble.

" _Don't be so disappointed,_ " the voice says, almost scolding me. " _I'm you. I'm always here, remember?_ "

"I like you better when you keep your mouth shut and stop trying to get my hopes up," I mumble.

" _Rude_ ," the voice mutters. " _But come on, you have to admit. How he was acting just before term ended. That was a bit suspicious if he doesn't like you that way._ "

"He's probably just awkward because how awkward I've been," I say, shrugging.

" _If I had eyes I'd be rolling them right now,_ " the voice informs me. " _He obviously likes you_."

I start believing it for a second, then snap out of it. "No, he doesn't. And it's obvious he doesn't. Now stop talking, if the Martins wake up they'll think I'm talking to myself."

" _Well... you are_ ," the voice reminds me.

"Oh, shut up," I mumble, sighing once more.

" _Fine, fine..._ " the voice says, then finally shuts up.

Note to self: stop talking to myself. It's not good. Besides, it's a bit frustrating...

I stare up at the ceiling blankly, imagining all sorts of wonderful scenarios about how I tell him how I feel about him, and he miraculously feels the same way, and we end up having a long, happy relationship. But then this ends up hurting too much because I know it'll never happen, so I prop myself up on my elbows, looking around the room, looking for something else to think about.

But every single thought in my mind currently strays back to Fred, no matter what I do. Sighing, I flop back down on the bed, sighing for what seems the millionth time. I hear a creaking noise, and listen carefully, praying it's not the Martins, because then I'll have to go down and listen to whatever cruel, useless conversation they have in store. But it's only the sound of Candy turning over in her bed, and she gives a loud snore, proving herself to still be asleep.

I wonder what Fred's doing right now? Is he in bed, thinking about someone too? If he thinking about me, like I am about him? No, definitely not. If he's even awake right now, he'll be off pranking and being loud and outgoing with George. And if he  _is_ thinking about someone at the moment, well, you can be sure that it wouldn't be me.

I wonder how Fred even acts around a girl he fancies. Does he sort of act awkward like I do? Or does he stay completely the same? I wish I was like that... If Fred found out I fancy him, our friendship would be over. It would be completely destroyed in a matter of seconds. Even if we still managed to be friends again, it wouldn't be the same. No, that can't ever happen. Ever. Our friendship means way too much to me for that to be ruined over my liking him.

So, I'll just continue my secret liking him, and constantly wishing he felt the same way so badly it hurt. The thing is, everyone seems to know it but Fred and George. Hermione and Ginny knew before I even did, Harry figured it out soon enough, Remus Lupin - my godfather - even picked up on it, and I'm assuming Ron knows as well, but he never outright said it. Yup, everyone but him knows, basically...

Sometimes, I wish he  _did_ know. Sometimes, on those days where I just wanted him so badly it hurt. I just wanted the secret to be off my chest, even though he doesn't feel the same way. And I don't mean for it to be off my chest as in for someone to know, I wanted him to know. Just so there's no secrets between us. I really don't like having to keep something so big from him.

But most of the time I'm actually sane, so I keep it to myself. This won't make anything any easier. It'd just make things harder. Our relationship would be thrown out the window. It wouldn't be less awkward. It'd be more awkward!

A horrible thought strikes me at that moment. What if Fred  _does_ know? What if  _that's_ why he's been acting a bit - erm - weird around me lately? That could be it. I bury my head into my pillow, as though this would block out such a terrible thought. No, no, no that can't be true. If he knew he'd bring it up one way or another. He'd mention it, wouldn't he? Yes, he would... Fred would want to know for sure...

I'm thinking too much. And I think the Martins are awake as well. I get up, get dressed, and walk downstairs, needing any sort of distraction - even the Martins - so that I don't come up with any more mortifying ideas.


	3. We Can Go!

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Three: We Can Go!**

 

I walk into the kitchen, to see that everyone is already seated around the table and eating. They don't acknowledge me at all when I walk in, but at this point, I'm far too used to it to care. I sit down, take a piece of toast, and begin eating. I didn't even realize how hungry I was until now.

Uncle Gabriel looks up from his newspaper and says distastefully, "You're a pig."

He doesn't say it like an insult. He says it like it's a simple fact.

"Aww, thank you!" I say, pretending that this is the greatest compliment I could ever receive.

He glares at me, before returning to his newspaper, grumbling about how disgusting I am or something. It doesn't bug me, though. I'm way too used to the Martins insults to feel anything any more. I eat the rest of my breakfast without talking, then stand back up to go to my room. I'm expecting an owl from the Weasleys, inviting me to the Quidditch World Cup. It's Bulgaria VS. Ireland, and my God, I'm excited! I just hope I can go... I'm going to die if I can't!

Just as I reach my room, I hear the doorbell ringing. It might be Harry... I walk out of my room, but at the top of the stairs, I can see that Uncle Gabriel is already at the door. He gestures for me to get out of the way. The Martins want the least amount of people as possible to know about me, you see.

Sighing, I duck out of sight. I can hear the door opening, and a cheerful greeting from some man that I don't recognize.

"Second one of these I got today," the man says sounding both amused and disbelieving. "The other one was addressed to the house right next door. Number four."

Number four? That's Harry's house! Two of the same thing being sent to both mine and his house? That can't be coincidence... What if it's for me?

"R-really?" Uncle Gabriel says in a voice of forced calm.

"Yeah," the man says, chuckling a little. "Would you look at the stamps on this thing! It's why I wanted to deliver it personally."

Uncle Gabriel gives an extremely forced laugh.

"Do you reckon they're foreign?" someone who must be the postman asks.

"Yeah, probably," Uncle Gabriel says in a very strained voice. "I'll just take it from here, then. Bye."

There's the sound of the door slamming, and a long pause. Then Uncle Gabriel yells my name in a rather terrifying voice. I stand there, trembling for a second, then realize. Why should I be afraid of him? Especially when I have the threat of my werewolf godfather, Remus Lupin, lingering over him. I walk down the stairs, and look at him quite calmly.

"Yes?" I ask serenely.

"Look at this!" Uncle Gabriel yells, shoving an envelope under my nose. "LOOK AT IT!"

Raising an eyebrow, I take the envelope, and after one good look at it, stifle a laugh with difficulty. Nearly every inch of the thing was covered in stamps. The only part without any was the top right corner in which our address was squeezed on there. There's no return address. It's clear that this is a letter written by a wizard. And not just any wizard.  _The Weasleys_.

"What is the meaning of this?" Uncle Gabriel says furiously.

But I don't answer, I rip open the envelope and look at the letter inside. My suspicion was correct. It's a letter from Mrs. Weasley.

"Read it!" Uncle Gabriel says, looking as though he's preparing himself for what he's about to hear.

" _Dear Mr. and Mrs. martin,_

_We have never met formally, but I'm sure you've heard a lot from Hazel about my sons Ron, Fred, George, and my daughter Ginny,"_

I have to stifle a hollow laugh at that one. Like they'd want to hear anything about my friends. My weird, freaky, abnormal friends.

" _As Hazel might've told you, the final of the Quidditch World Cup-_ "

Once again, I stifle a laugh at how Mrs. Weasley thinks that the Martins give a shit about the magical world.

" _-takes place next Monday night, and my husband, Arthur, has managed to get prime tickets through his connections with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I do hope you'll allow us to take Hazel to the match, as this really is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; Britain hasn't hosed the World Cup in thirty years and tickets are extremely hard to come by. We would of course love to have her stay for the rest of the summer holiday, and to see her safely onto the train back to school._

_It would be best if hazel sent us your answer back as quickly as possible the normal way, because the Muggle postman has never delivered to our house, and I don't really know that he even knows where it is._

_Hoping to see Hazel soon,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Molly Weasley._

_P.S. I do hope I put enough stamps on._ "

I look back at the envelope, and this time I can't help it. I let out a laugh.

"I think she put enough stamps on," I say, grinning.

Uncle Gabriel glares at me for the longest time. I try my best to keep my face in neutral in reply.

Finally, just so that it's not deadly silent, I say, "So, can I go?"

A slight spasm crosses Uncle Gabriel's face, and I can tell he's fighting with himself. If he lets me go, I'd be happy, which is something he just can't allow. Yes if I don't go, he'll have to put up with me for longer than necessary, which is also a terrible thing for him.

"Who is this woman?" he finally says.

"You've seen her," I reply. "The woman with the red hair."

Uncle Gabriel frowns, thinking.

"The dumpy woman with lots of children?"

"I don't really think you have the right to call anyone dumpy," I shoot back angrily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Uncle Gabriel says furiously.

"It means that you haven't got the right to call anyone dumpy considering what you look like," I reply, back to my calm voice again.

"How dare you?" he says furiously.

"Easily," I say coldly. "So, can I go or not? Make it quick, would you?"

"Watch your tone, girl," he says warningly.

"Sorry," I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"What's the rush, anyway?" Uncle Gabriel asks, his eyes narrowing.

"I have to write a letter to my godfather," I answer honestly, but a smirk crosses my face. "I haven't written to him in a while, and he might be getting worried."

"Your - your godfather?" he repeats.

"Yeah," I say, nodding. "You know, the  _werewolf_."

My words have the desired effect. I know that Remus isn't dangerous or anything, but Uncle Gabriel doesn't. And if he forbids me from writing to Remus, he'll think that I'm being mistreated. But if I write and tell him I can't go, he'll know I'm being mistreated. And, obviously Uncle Gabriel is terrified of a werewolf bursting into the house and attacking him and the other Martins. There's only one thing Uncle Gabriel can do.

"Fine, you can go," Uncle Gabriel says. "You can go to this Cup thing... tell your  _godfather_ you can go."

"Thank you," I say, smirking, and start to walk away.

"What does she mean by the normal way?" Uncle Gabriel suddenly asks.

"Oh," I say casually, turning around, "she means normal for us. You know, for wiza-"

"Okay! Okay!" Uncle Gabriel interrupts loudly. "Just go!"

Smirking, I turn back around, and hurry upstairs to my room. I'm greeted by Percy's owl, Hermes, tapping on my window. I open the window, and he flies into Midnight's cage. Midnight is quite welcoming to Hermes, and lets him rest. Wondering why I'd get a letter from Percy, I open the letter. It's actually from Fred.

 

_Dear Knight,_

_So as you might know, Mum's sent a letter asking those Muggles for permission if you can go to the World Cup. I don't know if you've actually gotten it yet. Not sure how fast the Muggle way is. Anyway, if they said yes, send a letter back with Hermes as soon as possible, and we'll pick you up on Sunday at five o'clock. If they say no, send a letter back with Hermes as soon as possible and we'll pick you up on Sunday at five o'clock. There's no way in hell you're missing this, Hazey._

_By the way, seriously do send this back with Hermes as soon as possible. I stole him from Percy while he was still asleep. Right now he thinks that Hermes is off hunting, but he'll find out soon enough if he doesn't come soon._

_Your favourite ginger,_

_Fred._

_P.S. Has that uncle been beating you lately?_

 

I shake my head at the last part about Hermes, but turn over the parchment, and scribble down a reply.

 

_Dear Weasley,_

_No worries, the Muggles said I could go. And Uncle Gabriel hardly even yelled at all! I can't believe how lucky I got off. But then again, I maybe, kind of, sort of, indirectly blackmailed him... So maybe that's why... not really though! It's not my fault he took it the wrong way... but anyway, so I can go so that's all that really matters, right?_

_In case you're wondering, I used my godfather being a werewolf against him. Hey, I know Remus isn't dangerous and that he'd never be by Muggles at the full moon, but my uncle doesn't, does he? And they definitely don't need to know..._

_Oh, and using Errol was definitely out of the question because...? I know he's rather weak, but it'd be a lot easier..._

_Sincerely,_

_Hazel._

_P.S. That uncle hasn't been doing anything lately... but then again, it's kind of, sort of, indirectly because of said blackmail._

 

I read over the letter, and deciding that I'm satisfied with it, I roll it up, and tie it to Hermes leg. He flies out the window promptly, and I close it after him.

I look around at Midnight, and see that he looks slightly offended at how I didn't choose him.

"Don't worry, I've got a job for you too," I say matter-of-factly.

I sit down, and begin writing my letter to Remus.

 

_Dear Remus,_

_Things have been going well, thanks. Well, I mean, they're not amazing, but it's been way worse before, believe me. I haven't been beaten once so far. Candy doesn't torment be as much any more, since she's always out with her friends lately. And without her being a spoiled brat all the time, it's been pretty quiet. And I have Harry to keep my company. So, yeah, all in all, this summer has been the best so far, honestly._

_I'm also going to see the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys. So, if you want to send any owls after Sunday, send them to the Burrow, since I'll be spending the rest of the summer holiday there, too. I'm so excited!_

_But anyhow, how have you been? Found any other places to work? And hows the Lycanthropy going now that you have no potion?_

_Hope you're doing well,_

_Hazel._

_P.S. And yes, for God's sake, I've been writing to Fred. Even if I do fancy him, he still is one of my best friends, remember?_

After reading that letter over again, I roll it up, and tie it to Midnight's leg.

"To Remus," I explain, stroking his feathers softly with my index finger.

He nips my finger affectionately before flying off. I watch him soar through the air, until he's completely out of fight. Then I decided to go tell Harry that I can go.

Praying that he can as well, I hurry down the stairs, and fling myself out of the house, without bothering to tell anyone where I'm going. It's not like they care, in any case. I'm halfway over to number four, when I see Harry.

I run over to him, and exclaim. "I can go!"

"You can?!" Harry exclaims happily.

"Yes!" I say, over the moon with happiness, as it suddenly really hit me that I'm going. "Can you?"

"Yes!" Harry exclaims.

Harry lets out a whoop of happiness, while I do a weird sort of dance on the spot. This isn't going to help the opinions of the neighbours who think we're the neighbourhood weirdos, but honestly, I don't care right now, even if the pointing and whispering does get annoying. And I doubt Harry does either. Why would we, when we're going to see the Quidditch World Cup  _this_ Monday!


	4. Well, That's One Way to Come

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Four: Well, That's One Way to Come**

 

By Sunday at 4:40pm, I've had everything packed and ready and am now just uselessly pacing around my room. I consider if I should go over to the Dursley's now... the Weasley's are picking us up from there.

Well, I mean it won't be any less tense there... In case you're wondering, the Martins are really tense about the Weasleys, even though they're not going to be even seeing them... and it's bound to be even more tense at the Dursleys, since they're the ones who are going to have to actually meet them...

Finally, I decide that at least I'll have Harry to keep my company in the meanwhile, so I take y trunk and drag it down the steps, holding Midnight's cage in my remaining free hand, being extremely careful so I don't fall down the stairs.

"Well, um, I'm leaving now," I call out awkwardly from the door, "so, bye then..."

Only a grunt in reply. Well, it's not like I was expecting an extremely sappy farewell... I rest Midnight's cage on my trunk for a second to open the door, and set off down to Number four.

Once again, I set my cage down, and knock on the door timidly, hoping that Vernon, Petunia or Dudley don't answer, because I don't really want to deal with them at such a time... Luckily, Harry opens the door almost immediately, and lets me inside.

"Oh, you," Vernon grunts, looking disappointed.

"Me," I agree grimly.

He glares at me for a second, but doesn't say anything else about me. Finally, he walks away, so Harry and I sit on the bottom steps, and begin talking in whispers. I'm not completely sure why we don't just go up to his room as usual, or why we're even bothering to speak in whispers. Really, it makes no sense. But I guess it's just the atmosphere of the house.

"Hey, do you know how they're going to pick us up?" Harry asks.

I sit there in silence for a moment, as it hits me that I don't actually know.

"Well, they can't be driving," I say after a moment of thought. "They don't have a car any more."

There's a bit of an awkward silence at that, since we're kind of the reason they don't have a car any more... It's off in the Forbidden Forest, now...

"Well, they could borrow from the Ministry," Harry points out.

"I dunno, we got those Ministry cars last year for your protection," I say. "Now there really isn't a reason for them to lend any...."

"Yeah, true..." Harry admits. "Then, what d'you reckon?"

"No idea," I admit. "Let's just hope it's nothing too big and, well, magical."

There's a moment of silence as Harry nods in agreement, and I add as an afterthought, "And let's hope I didn't just jinx it."

Harry and I look at each other, and then we start laughing. We cover our mouths quickly to stifle it, worried that Petunia or Vernon will snap at us.

We sit in silence for a while, checking our watches excitedly. But five o'clock comes and goes. Vernon, sweating a bit, went outside to check, then came back quickly.

"They're late!" Vernon snaps angrily. Typical, to; one, blame us, and two, get angry after they're only five minutes late.

"I know," Harry says nervously. "Maybe it's - er - bad traffic or something."

I raise my eyebrows at him when Vernon walks away, and he mouths, 'Well, he can't know they're not driving'. Despite my sudden nervousness, I have to stifle another laugh.

By twenty past five, I start to feel a little anxious. Not because of the fact they're late. They'll come soon enough. But at how Vernon is going to act. He hates unpunctuality. He hates wizards. And right now, the Weasleys are both... And what Petunia and Vernon are saying in the sitting room aren't helping my worries too much.

"No consideration at all,"

"We might've had an engagement,"

"Maybe they'll think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late," I can hear Petunia whisper worriedly.

"Somehow, I doubt it," I scoff.

"Well, they most certainly will not be," Vernon says firmly, and I can hear him stand up and start pacing. "They'll take them and go, there'll be no hanging around."

"Oh, yes, because they'd want to stay around and have what would  _obviously_ be a nice, lovely little visit," I murmur sarcastically, and Harry grins a bit.

"That's if they're even coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay  _their_  kind don't set much on punctuality. Either that or they drive some tin-pot car that's broken d-AAAARGHHHH!"

Harry and I jump up, and exchange bewildered looks, before hurrying into the sitting room. As we come in, Dudley runs out, clutching his bum as he goes.

"What happened? What's the matter?" Harry asks, shocked.

Loud scraping and banging is coming from the other side of the Dursley's boarded up fireplace.

"What is it?" Petunia gasps, backing against the wall, terrified. "What is it, Vernon?"

But I think I know what it is.

" _No_ ," I whisper, a giant smile spreading across my face, and I try desperately to fight back a laugh.

"OUCH! Fred, no - go back, go back, there's been some sort of mistake - go tell George not to - OUCH! No, George, there's no room, go and tell Ron that-"

"Maybe they can hear us, Dad - Harry and Hazel - maybe they can help us get out."

There's a loud hammering on the wall.

"HARRY, HAZEL. CAN YOU HEAR US?!"

The Dursleys round on us like angry wolves, and while Harry explains, I walk over to the fireplace, fighting a losing battle not to laugh. They Floo'd, without knowing that this is an electric fireplace... oh god...

"Mr. Weasley?" I ask, kneeling in front of the fireplace, "can you hear me?"

"They've blocked the fireplace," Harry adds, kneeling beside me. "You won't be able to get through."

"Damn!" Mr. Weasley exclaims. "What have they done that for?"

"It's an electric fire," I exclaim.

"Really?" Mr. Weasley asks excitedly. "Eckletic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that... let's think... ouch, Ron!"

"What's going on?" Ron's voice asks. "Has something gone wrong?"

"No, Ron," George says sarcastically. "This is exactly how we wanted to end up."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives down here," Fred adds, his voice slightly muffled.

"Boys, boys," Mr. Weasley says vaguely. "I'm trying to think what to do... yes... only way... stand back, you two."

Harry and I retreat immediately to the sofa. Vernon, however, seems to have gained his courage back, and steps forward.

"Wait a minute!" he bellows at the fire. "What exactly are you going to-?"

With a loud bang, the electric fire shot across the room, as the boarded-up fireplace burst outwards, expelling Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, and finally Ron in a shower of rubble, and loose clippings.

Petunia shrieks and falls backward over the coffee table. Harry quickly flings an arm over me to protect me from anything. But nothing comes our way, in any case, Vernon catches Petunia before she hits the ground, and gapes, speechless, at the Weasleys.

"That's better," Mr. Weasley pants, brushing the dust from his long, green robes, and straightening his glasses. "Ah - you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!"

Tall, thin, and balding, he moved toward Vernon, his hand outstretched, but Vernon backs away a couple paces, dragging Petunia along with him. Words completely failed Vernon, which was a first. He always had something to say about anything.

His best suit is now completely covered in white dust, which also settled in his moustache and hair, making him look amusingly like he just aged thirty years.

"Er - yes, sorry about that," Mr. Weasley says, lowering his hand and looking at the ruined fireplace over his shoulder. "It's all my fault, it just didn't occur to me we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo network, you see - just for the afternoon, you know, so we could get Harry and Hazel. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking - but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Registration Panel, and he set it up for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll light a fire to send them back, then repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."

I'm willing to bet more than I even have that none of the Dursleys even understood a single word that just came out of Mr. Weasley's mouth. They're all still gaping rather stupidly at the Weasleys. Petunia staggers upright again, and hides behind Vernon, making me resist the mad desire to roll my eyes.

"Hello, Harry - Hazel!" Mr. Weasley say brightly. "Got your trunk ready?"

"It's upstairs," Harry replies, grinning.

"I'll get it," George says at once, winking.

He knows where Harry's bedroom is, having rescued him and myself in the middle of the night, along with Ron and Fred.

"Mine's just outside," I reply.

"Got everything, have you?" he asks, more to me, since he knows how forgetful I can be at times.

At that moment I just realized I forgot  _A History of Magic,_ and  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. A sheepish smile spreads across my face.

"Uhm, I'll be right back," I say sheepishly.

"I'll come too," Fred pipes up suddenly.

"I think I can manage the walk next door, but all right," I say, laughing a bit, which will disguise my slight confusion.

He looks slightly embarrassed at that, but laughs all the same. He follows me out into the hall.

"Hasn't changed much, this place?" Fred mutters vaguely, looking a bit amused.

"It's Privet Drive," I say, as though this should make that fact obvious. "Nothing changes here..."

"So... where is that cousin...? Dudley..." Fred asks in an innocent voice that doesn't deceive me for a second, looking around for him. What's he up to...?

"Probably hiding," I reply, shrugging, as we head for the door. "He's had a bad past with wizards..."

"What d'you mean?" Fred asks, as we walk across the lawn for Number Five, so I explain what Hagrid did to Dudley the day he told Harry he was a wizard, leaving Fred in stitches.

As I reach the door, I turn to Fred solemnly. "Fred, you are about to meet the Martins. If you'd like to live the rest of your life without knowing about terrible, annoying, dull people like them, then I suggest you leave."

"Oh, no, of course not!" Fred says earnestly. "This is going to be hilarious."

I shake my head slightly, smiling, and knock on the door. I can hear Uncle Gabriel's heavy footsteps, and then a second later, he's standing in front of the open door. His eyes narrow at the sight of me.

"Hello!" I greet cheekily, waving.

"What are you doing here?!" He snaps in reply. "And who's this?"

He nods at Fred. Fred looks strangely torn between hatred and amusement.

"The name's Weasley," Fred says in a Percy-like way, shaking his hand pompously. "Fred Weasley. And you must be Gabriel. I've heard  _all_ about you, of course."

"Not willingly," I mumble under my breath. Fred glances at me for half a second, but then decides not to say on this, thankfully.

"Why are you here?" he asks me again, hatefully.

"I've forgotten something," I say serenely. "Don't get your panties in a twist, we'll only be here for a second."

"Why is he here?" he asks, pointing savagely at Fred.

"Asking a lot of questions today, are we?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "He's just my friend, who's a wizard from Hogwarts who wanted to come."

He knew what that meant. He didn't know Fred wasn't old enough to do magic. He couldn't say anything rude right now. He nods, looking extremely angry, and moves out of the way to let us in.

"C'mon," I mutter to Fred, and lead the way upstairs to my bedroom.

He looks around the messy, cramped room, and says, "Lovely."

"Oh, like yours is any better," I say, laughing.

"Hey, well, girls are supposed to be all neat," Fred says, grinning.

"Who said I was a girl?" I joke.

"I knew you were secretly a guy!" Fred exclaims dramatically.

"I know, I know, I should've been more discreet," I admit, sighing.

"Yes, you should've," Fred agrees, flopping down onto my bed.

Grinning, I look around, trying to find my textbooks. Finally, I find them on the ground in the corner, and go to pick them up. I straighten up, books in hand, and turn around. I guess I hadn't heard Fred stand up and walk over to me, because he's literally right in front of me now. I look up into his eyes, biting my lip nervously, my heard and my mind racing a mile a minute.

It hits me how much I missed him. I missed hearing his laugh, I missed his smile, his messy red hair, I missed his voice, I missed joking around with him, I missed his humour. I missed him a lot.

And here he is. Right in front of me. His lips inches from my own. Why wasn't I doing anything?

" _This is your chance_!" the little voice screamed. " _Go on, kiss him! He wants to kiss you, it's obvious, go on!_ "

But instead, I keep staring into his eyes, trying to figure out what he's thinking. I can't quite figure it out. He's looking down at me, right into my eyes, biting his lip.

"Fred..." I murmur vaguely.

"Yeah?" he breathes, his voice slightly husky, his warm breath on my face, but I don't think I'd be able to string together coherent sentences anymore, so I don't say anything in reply.

Wait, is it just me, or is he getting closer? Yup, he's definitely getting closer. What do I do?

" _KISS HIM!_ " the voice screams. That seems like a really, really good idea... Smiling a bit, I lean in as well.

Just when our lips were literally just about to touch, Uncle Gabriel yells, "WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING UP THERE? HURRY IT UP ALREADY!"

This makes us jump apart, blushing wildly. At least, I am. Fred scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, looking from me, to the floor, and back again. I clear my throat awkwardly.

"So, we should probably - uh - you know - er - get back to the others," I stutter nervously. "T-they'll be - you know - uhm - uh - yeah - waiting for us."

"Uh, yeah," Fred agrees, nodding, still scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Besides, I don't reckon your uncle would like us here any longer."

"Yeah," I agree, forcing a laugh.

Very awkwardly, we walk out of my room, down the stairs, and out the door. Across the lawn, and into Number Four. I open my trunk, throw the books into the bag, and Fred carries it into the room with me. None of us speak once.

"You guys took a while," George says, smirking. "Didn't do anything, did you?"

"No," we say quickly, blushing.

"Right," George murmurs vaguely.

Then he jerks his head subtly, and Fred glances over and sees Dudley. An evil grin spreads across his face, and I'm glad, because whatever they're planning, it's gotten his mind off of what just happened.

"Ah, right," Mr. Weasley says, rubbing his hands together. "Better get cracking, then."

He raises his wand, and the Weasleys take a step back as one. He lights a fire in the fireplace, and then takes out a small, drawstring bag full of Floo Powder. He takes a pinch, and throws it into the flames.

"Off you go then, Fred, with Hazel's trunk," he says, gesturing toward the fire.

"Coming," Fred says. "Oh no - hang on."

A bag of sweets had fallen out of his pocket, and are now rolling around in every direction - fat, brightly coloured toffees. Fred scrambles around to pick them up, walked to the fire, and stepped inside, saying, "The Burrow!". Petunia gave a shuddering gasp, as, with a whooshing sound, Fred disappeared.

Then George went, carrying Harry's trunk. Ron went next, saying goodbye to the Dursley's with a bright "See you!" before leaving. Now me. I take a deep breath. I really don't like travelling by Floo Powder...

I step into the flames, which tickled me rather uncomfortably, but I cry, "The Burrow!" and I begin to spin very fast, and the Dursleys' living room whips out of sight in a rush of emerald green flames.


	5. At the Burrow

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Five: At the Burrow**

 

I spin around faster and faster, until I start to feel slightly sick and close my eyes. See, this is why I prefer basically any other means of travel... I feel myself slowing down, and then before I know it, I'm face first on the ground of the Weasleys kitchen. The laughter already ringing around the room becomes louder at the sight of me.

I get to my feet, and look around the room, fixing my hair, which is all over my face.. I stare in confusion at how hard they're laughing. I look around at the two unfamiliar faces. They must be Bill and Charlie, then...

"C'mon, my fall couldn't have been that funny..." I mumble uncomfortably.

"It's not that," George stops laughing loud enough to say.

"What is it, then?" I ask.

"You know those toffees I dropped on the ground?" Fred asks.

"Yeah..." I say slowly.

"Well, I left one on the ground, and that oaf Dudley is bound to pick it up," Fred continues, grinning and stifling a laugh. This doesn't clear anything up for me though.

"Sorry, but I'm not really getting the joke here..."

"Hazey, they weren't  _really_  toffees!" Fred exclaims.

"Then what were they?" I ask, confused.

"Ton-Tongue Toffees," George replies matter-of-factly. "Fred and I invented them. We've been waiting ages to test them out on someone..."

My eyes light up, and I start laughing loudly. The rest join in with me. Once we calm down for a bit, I'm introduced to Bill and Charlie. Charlie's built like the twins, shorter and stockier than Ron and Percy, who're both long and lanky. When I shook his hand, I could feel blisters and calluses, which must be from all those dragons.

Bill was a bit of a surprise, to be honest. As he works as curse-breaker in Gringotts and was once Head Boy of Hogwarts, I expected him to be something of an older version of Percy. But, Bill, however, was really cool. He's tall, with long hair put in a ponytail. He has an earring on with a fang dangling. He has boots made from what wasn't leather, but dragon hide. But other than that, he wouldn't have looked the least bit out of place at a rock concert.

Before any of us can say any more, Harry tumbles into the kitchen, and we all turn to him excitedly, eager for information about the result of the Ton-Tongue Toffees.

"Did he eat it?" Fred asks excitedly.

"Yeah," Harry replies, straightening up a bit. "What  _was_ that?"

"Ton-Tongue Toffees," George explains brightly for the second time. "Fred and I invented them. We've been waiting for someone to test them on all summer."

Once again, the tiny kitchen explodes with laughter. Harry looks around the room, and Charlie and Bill introduce themselves to Harry. Before much else can be said, Mr. Weasley Apparates into the room, at George's shoulder. He looks a lot angrier than I've ever seen him.

"That wasn't funny, Fred!" Mr. Weasley says furiously. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't give him anything," Fred says, another evil grin on his face. "I just  _dropped_ it... It's not my fault he went and ate it."

"You dropped it on purpose!" Mr. Weasley roars. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he's on a diet-"

"How big did his tongue get?" George interrupts eagerly.

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!" Mr. Weasley says furiously.

That just makes us burst into laughter all over again, with the image of Dudley with a four foot long tongue.

"It  _isn't funny_!" Mr. Weasley shouts. "That sort of behaviour seriously undermines the wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons-"

"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle, Dad!" Fred says indignantly.

"Yeah, we gave it to him because he's a great, bullying git!" George adds. "Isn't he, Harry? Hazel?"

"Yeah, he is, Mr. Weasley," Harry says earnestly, and I nod.

"That's not the point!" Mr. Weasley snaps. "You wait until I tell your mother-"

"Tell me what?" A voice asks behind them.

Mrs. Weasley enters the kitchen. She's a short, plump woman, with a kind face, but right now her eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

"Oh, hello, Harry, Hazel," she adds, spotting us and smiling. Then her eyes snap back to her husband. "Tell me  _what_ , Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley hesitates awkwardly. It's obvious that even though he's really mad at Fred and George, he hadn't really intended on telling Mrs. Weasley what happened. There's a silence, as Mrs. Weasley eyes his wife nervously.

At that moment, two girls appear at the door behind Mrs. Weasley. the sight of them makes me smile. One, who has bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth, is Hermione Granger, one of my best friends. The other, small and red-haired, is Ginny Weasley, another one of my best friends. _  
_

Both of them smile at me, then at Harry, but Ginny goes scarlet when Harry smiles back at her. She's been taken with him since the dawn of time, I swear.

"Tell me  _what_ , Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley asks again, in a sort of dangerous voice.

"It's nothing, Molly," Mr. Weasley mumbles. "Fred and George just - but I've had words with them-"

"What have they done this time?" Mrs. Weasley says. "If it's got anything to do with  _Weasley Wizard's Wheezes_ -"

"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" Hermione suddenly says quickly.

"He knows where he's sleeping," Ron says immediately, looking confused, making me resist the urge to roll my eyes. "He slept there last-"

"Well, why don't you show him again?" I insist pointedly. "We can all go."

"Oh," Ron says, cottoning on. "Right."

"Yeah, we'll come to," George says.

" _You'll stay where you are,_ " Mrs. Weasley snarls fiercely.

I shoot Fred and George a 'good luck' sort of glance, before edging out of the kitchen with Harry and Ron. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I set off along the narrow hallway and up the rickety staircase that zigzags through the house to the upper stories.

"What are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harry asks.

Ron and Ginny laugh, while Hermione doesn't. The name rings a bell, and after a moment of thought, I remember it's the name of the joke shop they want to open.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room," Ron explains quietly. "Great long price-lists of things they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they've been inventing all that..."

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually  _making_ things," Ginny continues. "We thought they just liked the noise..."

"Only, most of the stuff - well, all of it, really - was a bit dangerous," Ron goes on, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make money, and Mum got mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned their order forms... she's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many OWL's as she expected."

OWL's are Ordinary Wizarding Levels, the exams at Hogwarts that students take in their fifth year.

"And then there was this big row," Ginny says, "because Mum wants them to go to the ministry like Dad, but all they was to do is open a joke shop."

Just then, a door opens, and a face pokes out, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and an annoyed expression.

"Hi, Percy," Harry says.

"Oh, hello," Percy says. "I was wondering who was making all that noise." What a cheerful greeting. "I'm trying to work in here, you know. I've got a report to finish for the office - and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

"We're not  _thundering_ ," Ron says irritably. "We're  _walking_. Sorry if we've interrupted the top secret workings of the Ministry of Magic."

"What are you working on?" Harry asks.

"A report for the Department of International Magical Co-operation," Percy says smugly. "We're trying to standardise cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just s shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year-"

"That'll change the world, that report will," Ron says. "Front page of the  _Daily Prophet,_ I expect, cauldron leaks."

Percy goes a bit pink. "You might sneer, Ron," he says heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might as well find the market flimsy, shallow-bottomed products which seriously endanger-"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Ron says, and he starts upstairs again. The rest of us follow.

I can hear Percy slam the door shut. As we climb up three more flights to Ron's room, we can hear shouts echoing from the kitchen. It sounds like Mr. Weasley told Mrs. Weasley about the toffees.

Ron's room looks exactly like it did last time I saw it. The same posters of the Chudley Canons are whirling and waving on the bright orange walls and sloping ceiling, and the first tank on the window sill which used to hold a lot of frog-spawn, now just held one very large frog. Ron's "rat, Scabbers" isn't here any more, and instead, there's a tiny, grey owl, twittering about.

"Shut  _up_ , Pig," Ron says, squeezing between two of the four beds that have been squeezed into the room. "Fred and George are in here, since Bill and Charlie are in their room," he explains to Harry. "Percy gets to keep his own room because he's got _work_."

"Well, I'm imagine cauldron thicknesses would need a  _lot_ of alone time," I mumble.

"Er - why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asks Ron.

"Because he's being stupid," Ginny replies for him. "Its proper name is Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," Ron says sarcastically. "Ginny named him. She reckons it's sweet. I tried to change it, but it's too late now. He won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he bugs Errol and Hermes. He bugs me, too, come to that."

He looks resentfully at Pigwidgeon, still hooting and twittering wildly in his cage. I know Ron way too well to take him seriously, though. He often complained about Scabbers, but ws very miserable when Crookshanks had appeared to eat him. So I knew all too well that if Pigwidgeon were to disappear somehow too, he'd be crushed.

"Where's Crookshanks?" I ask Hermione suddenly.

"Out in the garden, I expect," Hermione replies, shrugging. "He likes chasing the gnomes. Never seen anything like them."

"Percy's enjoying work, then?" Harry asks, sitting down on one of the beds.

"Enjoying it?" Ron repeats darkly. "I reckon he wouldn't come home is Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him on the subject of his boss...  _According to Mr. Crouch... As I was saying to Mr. Crouch... Mr. Crouch is of the opinion... Mr. Crouch was telling me..._ They'll be announcing the engagement any day now..."

"Have you had a good summer, you two?" Hermione asks Harry and I. "Did you get out food parcels, Harry?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot," Harry replies gratefully. "They saved my life, those cakes."

"And have you heard from-?" Ronasks but a look from Hermione made him stop talking.

I can tell Ron was about to ask about Sirius. Ron, Hermione and I were so involved with his escape from the Ministry that we're nearly as worried about Harry's godfather than Harry himself. However, discussing Sirius in front of Ginny was a bad idea. Nobody but ourselves, and Dumbledore know about how Sirius escaped, or how he's actually innocent.

"Let's go back downstairs," Hermione says, to cover the awkward moment, since Ginny's now staring from Ron to Harry curiously. "I think they've stopped arguing."

"Yeah, good idea," Ron agrees, and though Ginny still looks curious, she doesn't say anything, and we all walk back downstairs again.


	6. 'Twas the Dinner Before the Cup

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Six: 'Twas the Dinner Before the Cup**

 

We enter the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley, looking extremely bad tempered.

"We're eating out in the garden," she announced, as we come in. "There's just no room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables."

Hermione, Ginny and I each take a stack of plates, and walk out into the garden, as Mrs. Weasley tells Harry and Ron what to do. I take extra care, because I don't want to fall and break the plates.

Outside, there are loud crashing noises coming from the other side of the house. What it is becomes apparent when we enter the garden. Bill and Charlie aren't exactly setting up the tables. They have their wands out, and are making the battered tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to know the other out of the air.

Fred and George are cheering. Ginny and I are laughing loudly. Hermione hovers near the hedge, clearly town between amusement and anxiety. As Ron and Harry join us with the forks and knives, Bill's table caught Charlie's with a bang, and knocked one of it's legs off. I let out a cheer, laughing all the while. Bill grins and winks at me.

There's a clatter above us, and we look up to see Percy's head poking out of a window on the second floor.

"Will you keep it down?" Percy bellows.

"Sorry, Perce," Bill says, grinning. "Hey, how're the cauldron bottoms going?"

"Very badly," Percy says peevishly, and slams the window shut again.

Chuckling, Bill and Charlie directs the table safely onto the grass, end to end, then, with a casual flick of his wand, he repairs the table leg, and conjures a tablecloth out of nowhere.

By 7 o'clock, the two tables're groaning under the dishes of Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are settling ourselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky.

To somebody who's been living off an extremely restricted diet for all summer, this is even better than it'd normally be, and while I do talk, I completely pig out. I'm having an extremely spirited conversation about the World Cup, even though I don't really know much about the teams themselves. From what I've heard and read though, I'm betting that Ireland's going to win.

"It's going to be Ireland," Charlie says thickly through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "They flattened Peru in the semi-finals."

"Bulgaria's got Viktor Krum, though," Fred points out.

"Krum's one good player, Ireland have got seven," I counter, and Charlie nods in approval.

"I wish England got through, though," he says. "That was embarrassing, that was."

"What happened?" Harry asks eagerly.

"Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten," Charlie replies gloomily, and seeming to notice my shocked expression, says, "I know. Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg."

God, that's embarrassing... I stop talking for a second, and I listen to a conversation Percy's having with Mr. Weasley.

"However," Percy's saying, heaving an impressive sigh, and taking a swig of his elderflower wine, "we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Co-operation without trying to find the members of other departments too."

"Yes, cauldron bottoms can be  _very_ time consuming," I say serious, but not too loudly.

"As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup," Percy continues, obviously having not heard me. He clears his throat significantly, and looks down the table at Harry, Ron, Hermione and I. " _You_ know the one I'm talking about, Father," he raises his voice a bit. "You know, the top-secret one."

Ron rolls his eyes and mutters, "He's been trying to get us to ask what the event is since he started work. Probably an exhibition on thick-bottomed cauldrons."

After a while, as the conversation between Fred, George and Charlie had turned back to Krum, I say, "But Krum is really good..."

"Just good?" George says. "He's brilliant! And he's really young, too... Only eighteen or something."

"Really?" I say, shocked. "He must be really good... The youngest players are usually in their twenties..."

Mr. Weasley conjures candles to light the darkening garden before we start to eat our home-made strawberry ice cream, and by the time we've finishes, moths are fluttering low over the table. Normally, I really don't like moths and find them disgusting, but with the surrounding scenery, they look rather pretty. The warm air's perfumed with the smell of grass and honeysuckle. I look around, smiling vaguely, feeling extremely happy and well fed. Harry and I watch several gnomes sprinting through the rose bushes, laughing wildly and being chased madly by Crookshanks.

Ron looks up and down the table, making sure everyone's talking, before he asks Harry, "So -  _have_ you heard from Sirius lately?" _  
_

Hermione looks around, listening closely.

"Yeah," Harry says softly, "twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here."

Harry looks like he wants to say something else, but thought better of it. I want to ask what it is, but decide that now, while we're all happy and peaceful, really isn't the time.

"Look at the time!" Mrs. Weasley says suddenly, checking her watch. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you will be up at the crack of dawn for the Cup tomorrow."

Not excited for waking up that early, honestly... but it'll be worth it, I suppose.

"Harry, Hazel, leave your school lists out, I'll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley. I'm getting everyone else's. There might not be time after the World Cup. The match went on for five days last time."

"Wow - I hope it does this time!" I exclaim excitedly.

"Well,  _I_ certainly don't. I shudder to think what would be in my in-tray if I misses five days of work." Percy says sanctimoniously. Killjoy.

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" Fred says.

"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" Percy protests, going red in the face. "It was nothing  _personal_!"

"It was," Fred whispers as we all get up from the table. "We sent it."

I burst out laughing, and still feel like laughing when I crawl into bed. The feeling goes away when my head hits the pillow, as I pass out completely.


	7. The Portkey

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Seven: The Portkey**

 

I feel like I've barely just laid down and closed my eyes, before I feel myself being shaken awake by Mrs. Weasley.

"Wake up, dear," she says softly.

"What - what's going on?" I mumble blearily, sitting up slightly, and looking up at her.

"It's time to go," she explains.

"Go where?" I ask thickly.

"The Cup, dear," she replies patiently. "Come on, get up."

"Oh," I reply. "Okay."

I can hear the sound of her footsteps fading away, and sit up. It's still dark outside. It's very cold, and I find myself shivering. I let out a loud yawn, and without really realizing what I'm doing, sink back into my bed, throwing the warm blankets over me, and curling up into a ball, trying to warm myself up again.

I've almost drifted to sleep, when someone throws the blankets off of me, blasting any warmth out of my body, leaving me shivering slightly once again. I roll over onto my back.

"Hermione!" I groan. "I'm trying to sleep!"

"I can see  _that_ ," she says, rolling her eyes. "But we have to go. The Cup, remember?"

"Why the fuck are we leaving so early anyway?" I ask in a very cranky voice.

"I dunno," Hermione replies, shrugging. "Why're you asking me?"

"Because you're Hermione," I say simply, sitting up and rubbing my eyes groggily. There's no point in trying to go back asleep now, even if it feels like I'm going to pass out... "You know everything."

"Just get ready," Hermione says, nudging me with her tow slightly, trying not to look pleased at my praise.

"Aye, aye, Captain," I murmur, getting to my feet and stretching.

We all start to get dressed very slowly, due to grogginess, yawning sleepily. After a while, I noticed Ginny had collapsed into her bed and fallen back to sleep. Shaking my head, I pick up my pillow, tiptoe over to her bed, and begin to repeatedly hit her.

"Hey!" Ginny groans. "I was sleeping!"

"If I can't sleep, then neither can you," I say simply.

"Five more minutes," Ginny pleads.

"You're evil," Ginny mumbles, getting back up.

"Just a little," I say, shrugging.

There's a knock on the door, and Mrs. Weasley comes in.

"Hurry up, girls!" she says. "Breakfast is ready, and we're waiting for you now."

Then walks out without waiting for a reply. Once we're all ready, we stumble down the stairs sleepily, rubbing out eyes and yawning. Fuck, I'd give anything to be able to go back to sleep...

I drop blindly onto the first empty chair I find, and cup my face into my hand.

"Morning, Hazey," Fred says, making me realize he's on my right.

"Hey," I say, turning to face him, and smiling at him, then smiling at Ron, who's on my left.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny asks.

"We've got a bit of a walk," Mr. Weasley replies. I notice that he and Mrs. Weasley are the only ones who look truly awake.

"Walk?" Harry asks. "What, are we walking to the Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley replies brightly. "We only need to walk a short way." Then wy are we up so early again? "It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention." Oh... "We have to be very careful about how we travel at times, and on an occasion like the Quidditch World Cup-"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley interrupts sharply, making everyone jump.

"What?" George says, in an innocent tone that doesn't deceive any of us.

"What's that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!" George insists.

"Don't lie to me!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims furiously.

She points her wand at George's pocket, and says, " _Accio_!"

Several small, brightly coloured objects zoom out of his pocket; George tries to grab them, but misses, and they all go into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told them to destroy them!" Mrs. Weasley says furiously. "We told you to get ride of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

It's a sad sight, I'll tell you that. Fred and George had clearly tried to smuggle as many toffees as they could out of the house, and it was only with Mrs. Weasley's multiple summoning charms that she managed to get them all.

" _Accio! Accio! Accio!_ " she shouts, and the toffees zoom out of all sort of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket, and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouts at his mother furiously.

"Oh, a fine way to spend six months!" Mrs. Weasley shrieks. "No wonder you didn't get more OWL's!"

All in all, we don't exactly leave in a very friendly atmosphere. Mrs. Weasley's still glowering as she kisses Mr. Weasley goodbye, though not nearly as much as Fred and George, who hoist each of their rucksacks onto their backs, and walked out without a word to her.

"Well, have a lovely time," Mrs. Weasley says. "And behave yourselves!" she calls after Fred and George, they give no sign that they heard her. "I'll send Bill, Charlie and Percy at about midday," she adds to Mr. Weasley, and the rest of us set off.

"Damn," I murmur to Hermione and Ginny. "They look about ready to murder someone."

It's quite obvious who I'm talking about.

"I know," Ginny agrees. "But who can blame them? They spent  _six months_ on those..."

"I know, I know," I insist. "I'm only saying..."

"You should go cheer them up," Hermione says suddenly to me.

"Me? Why?" I ask.

"Well, I think you just being there would cheer Fred up," Hermione says, smirking.

"I hope you mean because we're friends..." I whisper.

"Oh, come on, he  _so_ likes you," Hermione insists.

"We're  _not_ starting this conversation again," I say firmly.

"Again?" Hermione asks. "I haven't said this before... have I?"

"Uh, nothing," I say quickly, my cheeks reddening slightly. I didn't want Hermione to know that I had conversations with myself about Fred... "Never mind. All right, I'll go..."

I hurry forward, and then jump beside Fred.

"Come on, you guys, lighten up!" I say. "Think of where we're  _going_!"

"Think of six months of developing those toffees going down into the trash," Fred says rather harshly.

" _Literally_ ," George adds.

"All right, I'll admit that's a bit bad-" I begin.

"A bit?" Fred says incredulously. " _A bit_! That was six months of hard work-"

"I know, I know!" I interrupt. "No need to remind me. So, that was really bad, but hey, it could be worse."

"How?" George snorts disbelievingly.

"Well - it could've been all of them," I say fairly. "But there's a lot more, aren't there?"

"Not that much," George mumbles crossly.

"Besides, you've got more than just the toffees," I add reasonably. "You've got those Canary Creams and stuff."

"True," Fred agrees grudgingly.

"So, cheer up all ready!" I say brightly. "We're going to the Quidditch World Cup. This is no time to be moping about."

My McGonagall-like tone at the last bit makes them crack a smile. I smile triumphantly. Mission accomplished.

"So," I say, wanting to change the subject. "Bulgaria or Ireland?"

"Hmm," Fred says, stroking an invisible beard. "That's still a hard question."

"Bulgaria's got Krum, but Ireland's got seven  _brilliant_ players," George adds.

"Well,  _my_ money's definitely on Ireland," I say matter-of-factly. "They seem better by far."

"You know what?" George finally says after a second, exchanging glances with Fred.

"What?" I ask, staring at them curiously.

"We reckon Ireland will win, but Krum'll catch the Snitch," Fred says matter-of-factly.

"You're mental," I say, shaking my head.

As we start mounting the hill, nobody talks much, because we're all so out of breath. Finally, when we mount the hill, Mr. Weasley announces that all we have to do is find the Portkey, now.

Before we could do much searching, a man approaches us, along with someone who's clearly his son. I recognize the son immediately. It's Cedric Diggory. So the man must be his father. Amos Diggory, turns out to be his name. He'd holding an old, mouldy boot. So, that's the Portkey...

We all shake hands with Mr. Diggory, and say hi to Cedric, except for Fred and George, who only nod to him. Clearly, they're still upset over his defeat over Gryffindor. I roll my eyes very pointedly at them.

Cedric's father, Mr. Diggory... Well, he's another story. Quite rude. Seems to think Harry falling off his broom last year was due to lack of talent... Yeah, I don't like  _him_ very much... I have no problems with Fred and George scowling at  _him_. At least Cedric's cool, though.

Mr. Weasley gets us to all gather around and hold onto the boot. We're all quite squished together due to lack of room, and as we all stand there, waiting, I realize this would be a really weird scene is a Muggle walked past. A group of kids, and two adults, holding onto a boot, waiting...

But I don't have time for other thoughts, because it's suddenly as if a giant, invisible hook has just jerked me toward it, throwing me off my feet, leaving me hanging onto that old boot for dear life, bumping into Fred and Ginny as we spin around, and around in a howl of swirling wind and colour.


	8. At the Camp Site -Part One-

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Eight: At the Camp Site -Part One-**

 

Suddenly, I slam onto the ground. Except the ground is a bit squishy. And as I land on it, I hear a slight groan.

"I'm sorry, ground," I mutter dimly, as a voice says, "Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill." Then regain my common sense.

I shift slightly, and see that I've landed on top of Fred, and I'm looking down at him, my face inches from him. We lay there in complete silence, staring into each others eyes for a few seconds, that seem to stretch for ages, then remember there are other people there.

"Thanks for breaking my fall, Weasley," I say, forcing a laugh, as I roll off of him.

"You're getting heavy," Fred jokes, patting my stomach jokingly, as we get to our feet.

"Says the squishy ground," I retort, sticking my tongue out at him.

"Oh, yeah, apology accepted," Fred counters, laughing.

"I was a bit out of it," I say, crossing my arms.

"A bit?" Fred replies.

I stick my tongue out at him again, and we survey the scene. It seems to be a very deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of us is a pair of very tired and grump looking wizards. One of them is holding a large gold watch, the other, a thick roll of parchment and quill. They're both dressed as Muggles, but very inexpertly. The man with the watch is wearing a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; the second man, a kilt and a poncho. An amused smile spreads across my face, and I have to resist the urge to laugh.

Fred and I glance at each other, and I have to turn away for a second and cover my mouth with my hands to control myself. I look back at Fred, and he's grinning at me.

I really like his smile. It can either be really hot, reckless, and carefree, like it is right now, or it can be sweet and kind. Either way, it makes my heart skip a beat. I have to resist another intense urge to snog him until I can't breathe and turn to face the two wizards again.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley greets, picking up the boot and giving it to the kilted wizard, who threw it in a large box filled with a bunch of other used Portkeys.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil says wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some... We've been here all night... You'd better get out of the way; we've got a big party of wizards from the Black Forest coming at five fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your camp-site. Weasley... Weasley..." He consults the list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory - second field. Ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," Mr. Weasley says, and beckons us all to follow him.

We set off a deserted moor. After a while, my feet start to get really tired... Hey, I've been walking for a while!

"Fred," I say, smiling sweetly.

"Yes," he says vaguely, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I'm so tired, and my feet hurt so much," I explain.

"And?" Fred asks.

"Could you please carry me?" I ask sweetly.

"No, Hazey," Fred refuses, smiling.

"Please?" I ask.

"Nope," Fred says.

"Pleeease?" I plead, smiling cutely. "I'll love you forever and ever!"

"N - nope," Fred says, his smile faltering slightly, but coming back just as quickly.

"You weren't squishy! The ground was as hard as rock!" I say jokingly, smiling brightly, as though this would win him over.

Laughing, Fred says, "Oh, all right. But only because you finally said the truth."

"Yay!" I say cheerfully, hopping onto his back.

"Wow, you  _are_ getting heavy," Fred jokes.

"Hey! Don't be rude!" I say, slapping his arm.

"Oh, come on," Fred says. "You know I'm kidding. You're practically a feather."

"Mmm, nice cover up, Weasley," I comment.

"No, really!" Fred said earnestly.

"All right, all right," I say sleepily.

About twenty minutes later, a small cottage swims into view. Just behind, I can see the ghostly shape of hundreds and hundreds of tents. We say goodbye to the Diggorys, and approach the cottage door. A man in standing at the doorway, looking at the tents. It's obvious that this is the only real Muggle for several acres. When he hears footsteps, he turns to face us. I hop off Fred's back.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley greets brightly.

"Morning," the Muggle says.

"You wouldn't happen to be Mr. Roberts, would you?"

"Aye, I would," Mr. Roberts replies, nodding. "And who're you?"

"Weasley - two tents, booked a couple days ago?"

"Aye!" Mr. Roberts says, nodding, consulting a list tacked on the door. "You've got a space up by the Wood over there. Just one night?"

"That's it," Mr. Weasley confirms.

"You'll be paying now, then?"

"Uh - yes, certainly," Mr. Weasley said, pulling Harry aside, clearly asking him how Muggle currency works.

I let out a bit of a giggle. After they finally figure it out, we go out to our space. Once again, Mr. Weasley turns to harry, Hermione, and I. AKA the only people here who understand Muggle things.

Now, I've never been camping, and neither has Harry, so we're mostly relying on Hermione here. All the same, the four of us manage to make the tents. Standing back to admire our handiwork, only one thing is on my mind: there is no way that these tiny tents are going to be able to fit all of us. Judging by the looks on their faces, Harry and Hermione think so too. Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, sees no problem with these tents.

"Come on, then," Mr. Weasley says, and getting on his knees, crawls inside.

One by one, the Weasleys, who all look unconcerned with the tent situation, crawl inside after him, Harry, Hermione and I lingering by uncertainly. Finally, Hermione shrugs, and crawls in after them.

"After you," Harry said, grinning.

I stick my tongue out at him, get on my knees, and crawl inside the tent. What I see makes my jaw drop.

On the outside, the tent was very small, just enough to fit maybe two of us. But on the inside, it was basically a flat, complete with a bathroom and kitchen. The only downside to this place, is that it had a distinct smell of cats... I straighten up, looking around at the place in awe. Harry follows a second later, and seems just as stunned as I am.

"Close your mouth," Fred whispers to me. "You'll catch flies."

Blushing slightly, I close my mouth quickly.

"Well, we'll be a bit cramped, but it's not for long," Mr. Weasley sighs, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering at the four bunk beds that stand in the bedroom. "I borrowed it from Perkins at the office. He doesn't camp any more; the poor bloke's got lumbago." Mr. Weasley picks up the dusty kettle and peers inside it. "We'll need water..."

"There's a tap marked on this map that Muggle gave us," Ron says. "It's on the other side of the field..."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione and Hazel go and get us some water, then-" Mr. Weasley hands us the kettle and some saucepans, "-the rest of us will start to light a fire."

"But we've got an oven," Ron says, "why don't we just-?"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr. Weasley insists, his face shining with anticipation. "When Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I've seen it!"

 _But who's going to know_? I thought, but didn't really want to say out loud.

After a quick tour of the girls' tent, which is slightly smaller, yet without the smell of cats, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I set off to get some water for us.

I'm suddenly a lot more awake, and a lot more cheerful. This is it! In a few short hours, we're going to be seeing the Quidditch World Cup!


	9. At the Camp Site -Part Two-

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Nine: At the Camp Site -Part Two-**

 

Now, with the sun rising slowly and the mist lifting, we can see all of the tents more clearly. As we make our way through, staring around eagerly, it really dawns on me how many wizards there are in the world. I always knew there were a lot of them, of course, but it was just something I was only vaguely aware of, but now it really hits me.

I can see what Mr. Weasley means when he says that wizards can't resist showing off when we get together. One of the tents looks like a miniature palace, with a few peacocks -  _actual peacocks_ \- tethered to it. Another tent has three floors and several turrets. One of the tents has a front garden, complete with a birdbath, sundial and fountain. No wonder Mr. Roberts is getting suspicious...

Our fellow campers are starting to wake up. Lucky them, getting a full night's sleep... First to stir are the young children. I've never seen wizards and witches so small before. A tiny boy, no older than two, is sitting outside a large, pyramid shaped tent, holding a wand and happily poking a slug in the grass, watching it swell to the size of a salami. I imagine the effects of those ton-tongue toffees would be something like this....

As we draw level with him, his mother hurries out of the tent, saying, "How many times do I have to tell you, Kevin? You don't - touch - Daddy's - wand - yeuch!"

She'd trodden on the giant slug, which had burst. I cringe, slightly disgusted. Her scolding carries after us in the still air, but not as much as the little boy, screaming, "you bust slug! You bust slug!"

"Moral of the story," I say, smiling a little, "is that when you have children, make sure they don't touch your wand."

They all laugh a little, and we continue up the field. Not long after, we see two little witches, no older than Kevin, riding toy broomsticks, which only rise high enough for their toes to skim the grass. A Ministry wizards spots them right away; as he hurries past us, he mutters angrily, "In broad daylight! Parents are having a bit of a lie-in, I suppose-"

Here and there adult wizards emerge from their tents, and start to cook breakfast. Some of them, without furtive looks around them, quickly light a fire with their wands; others are striking matches with dubious looks on their faces, as though certain that it wouldn't work. I suppose living in the Muggle world  _does_ have its advantages...

Three African wizards are sitting around a large purple fire, roasting what seems to be a white rabbit, talking excitedly in low voices. A group of middle aged American witches are gossiping happily, under a banner that reads: The Salem Witches Institute. No matter what language all the people here are speaking, no matter how loud, they're clearly all very excited.

"Er - is it just me, or has everything gone green?" Ron says.

It's not just Ron. Clearly, we've reached all the Irish supporters. All the tents are covered in a thick layer of shamrocks, so that it looks like small, oddly shaped hillocks have grown out of the ground. Grinning faces could be seen through the flaps of tents.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! Hazel!" someone calls behind us.

It's Seamus Finnigan, a fellow Gryffindor fourth-year. He's sitting in front of his own shamrock coloured tent, with a woman who must be his mother, and Dean Thomas, another Gryffindor in our year.

"Like the decorations?" Seamus asks, as we come over to say hello. "The Ministry's not to happy."

"I'd imagine so," I say, laughing.

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colours," Mrs. Finnigan says. "You should see what the Bulgarian supporters have got dangling over their tents. You  _will_ be supporting Ireland, won't you?" she adds, eyeing us beadily.

"Of course we will!" I insist earnestly.

After we'd all assured her we'll be supporting Ireland, we head off once more, as Ron mutters, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling over their tents?" Hermione pipes up.

"Let's go and have a look," Harry says, pointing to a large patch of the field, where the Bulgarian flag is dancing airily in the breeze.

The tents aren't bedecked with plant life; instead, every single one of the tents has a giant poster of the same face plastered onto it. Like all wizard photos, it's moving, but all it does is blink and stare at us. I don't reckon this person is very cheerful.

"Krum," Ron mutters.

"What?" Hermione asks.

"Krum!" Ron repeats. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker."

"So this is the famous Krum," I comment. "Not a very happy guy, is he?"

"Not a very happy guy?" Ron repeats, staring at me in disbelief. "He's a genius! And he's really young too! Only eighteen or something. He's brilliant, just wait, you'll see."

There's already a queue for the tap at the corner of the field. Not a big one, though, thankfully. We join the line right behind two wizards, who're arguing with each other. One of the wizards is wearing a long, flowery nightgown, and the other is holding a pair of pinstriped trousers.

"Just put them on, Archie, good chap, you can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already suspicious-" the one holding the trousers insists, nearly crying with exasperation.

"I bought this at a Muggle shop," the wizard in the nightgown protests. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not men, they wear these!" the other wizard insists, brandishing the trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," Archie says in indignation. "I like a nice, healthy breeze round my privates, thanks."

Hermione and I start laughing so much that we have to duck out of the queue, and we only return once Archie had collected his water and moved away.

I wipe away some tears from laughing so hard, and say, "Oh my God, that was _classic_!"

Walking more slowly now, due to the weight of the water, we start to make our way back to our tents. Here and there, we see more and more familiar faces; Oliver Wood, mine and Harry's old Quidditch captain, who's just left Hogwarts, drags Harry and I over to meet his parents, and happily announces to us that he's just been accepted into Puddlemere United; then we're hailed by Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff in our year; and Cho Chang, a pretty girl who plays Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waves and smiles at Harry, who slops a lot of water down his front when he waves back. I start giggling again.

"Aw, Harry's got his first crush!" I whisper to him, pinching his cheek. "How cute!"

"Shut up," Harry says, going red.

"But it's adorable," I say, laughing.

More to avoid me and Ron smirking than anything, I reckon, Harry points out a bunch of teenagers we've never seen before.

"Where d'you reckon they're from? I've never seen them before," Harry says.

"'Spect from some foreign school," Ron replies, shrugging. "I know there are others, never met anyone that's been to one, though. Bill had a pen-friend from Brazil... this was years and years ago... and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His pen-friend got all offended and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

"That's awful!" I exclaim, laughing.

"You've been ages," George says in greeting, when we finally get back to the tents.

"Met a few people," Ron says, shrugging.

"Haven't you got the fire started, yet?" I ask, frowning.

"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred says, and I let out another laugh when I see what he means.

Mr. Weasley's having absolutely not success with lighting the fire, but it's not from lack of effort. Splintered matches litter the ground all around him, but he looks like he's having the time of his life. He manages to light one, but drops it from surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," Hermione offers kindly, taking the box from him, and showing him how to do it properly.

At last, the fire is lit, but we still have to wait an hour before we can actually cook anything. I let out a sigh. I didn't realize how hungry I am until now. At least there's plenty to watch in the meantime. Our tent seems to be pitched right along a thoroughfare to the pitch, and Ministry members keep hurrying up and down it, greeting Mr. Weasley as they went. Mr. Weasley keeps up a running commentary of people who pass us. This is really only for mine, Harry's, and Hermione's benefit, since all of the Weasley children already know everybody, and really can't be bothered to listen. I listen intently, learning so many new things about the Ministry, and it's many departments and functions.

 

**_*Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*_ **

 

Fred watched Hazel through the corner of his eyes, still participating in the conversation between him, George, Ron, and Ginny, so they wouldn't notice him staring at her. He didn't really know why he hadn't told George yet. They told each other everything. And why not, too? They're twins. They were as close as anything. But something just held him back from telling George.

What was it? Maybe Fred dreaded George's reaction. Hazel was like a sister to George, after all, and she had been to Fred, too. Would he laugh? No, George wasn't like that... Would he be disbelieving? Probably. But that was something he could get over quickly enough. So what was holding him back?

Fred tried to shrug it off. He'd tell George soon. After the Cup. Yeah, when they'd gotten home and settled in again.

Fred laughed at something George said, though he wasn't really sure if it was very funny. Ron and Ginny laughed too, so clearly it was. Over with Mr. Weasley, Harry, and Hermione, Hazel let out a laugh, making her eyes brighten even more than before, when she was only smiling. Fred loved her laugh. Hazel hated it, because, according to her, it sounded incredibly dorky, but Fred found it adorable. He loved hearing her laugh, and being the cause of it made it all the more beautiful.

He stared as she talked, watching her lips moving. Why hadn't he kissed her? Why had he just stood there and looked at her? Why hadn't he done something? He'd had his chance! Hazel didn't seem to be against the idea. In fact, she seemed to want to kiss him too. And yet, he'd just stood there, and stared at her.

 _I'm an idiot,_ Fred thought.  _I'm a complete and total idiot._

" _Can't argue with that one,_ " something in his mind said.

 _She could've been mine by now,_  Fred thought miserably.  _If I hadn't been so stupid_.

"Fred! Fred - Fred!" someone was saying, and he suddenly became aware of someone waving a hand in front of his face.

"Wha - yeah?" Fred asked, snapping out of it.

"You've been completely out of it for ages!" Ron explained.

"Staring off into space," George continued, a smirk forming.

"The bit of space that Hazel's currently occupying," Ginny said, smirking herself.

"What? Are you trying to say that I was staring at Hazel?" Fred scoffed, trying to look incredulous.

"I do believe that's the point we're getting across, yes," George confirmed, nodding.

"And that you fancy her," Ginny added. "About bloody time, too, you're perfect together."

"You're barking," Fred said. "I - I was just thinking."

"About what?" Ron asked, amused.

"Hazel?" George suggested, his smirk widening.

"No, just, random things," Fred lied.

They let it drop after a while, seeing that Fred wasn't going to say any more than things like 'You're barking!' or 'Why the hell would I be staring at her?'. he was more active in the conversation afterwards, not wanting them to catch him lost in thought again. he kept thinking about what Ginny said. " _You're perfect together_."

Were they?


	10. Bagman and Crouch

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Ten: Bagman and Crouch**

 

Just as lunch is finally ready, Percy, Billy, and Charlie finally show up. Lucky blokes... Not only do they get to sleep in, but they show up just as the food's ready.

"Ah, lunch!" Percy says briskly as a greeting, sitting down and helping himself to some sausages.

I stick my tongue out at him behind his back. I don't think anybody noticed me, until I hear laughter from my left. I turn and see George laughing at me, looking very amused.

"You're so weird," he says to me, and I just stick my tongue out at him in reply, making him laugh more.

Fred looks around at the sound of his twin's laughter, and looks from me to George, slightly confused. George explains, and Fred lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

"You're so weird," Fred says.

"But it's not faiiiir!" I whine, pouting like a four year old.

"Well, isn't that sad," George says in mock-sympathy.

Just as we're all halfway through our eggs and sausages, Mr. Weasley jumps to his feet, waving and grinning at the man striding towards us, saying, "Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!"

So this is the famous Ludo Bagman... He's easily the most noticeable person here, and that's including Archie in his flowery nightgown. He's wearing the Quidditch uniform for the Wisbourne Wasps, the Quidditch team he used to play for; they have thick horizontal striped of black and yellow, with an enormous picture of a wasp splashed across his chest. He's definitely become out of shape after his retirement from Quidditch; the robes are stretched tightly over a belly that he definitely didn't have while he used to play. His nose was squashed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion makes his look like an overgrown school boy.

"Arthur, old man," he puffs, as he reaches the camp-fire. "What a day, eh? What a day... Couldn't ask for better weather! A cloudless night coming up, and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements... Not much for me to do!"

Behind him, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rush past, pointing at some distant evidence of some sort of magical fire which was sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

"Somehow, I doubt that," I mumble, smiling slightly.

Percy hurries forward, his hand outstretched. Clearly, even if he disapproves of Bagman and the way he runs his department, he still wants to make a good impression.

"Ah, yes," Mr. Weasley says, grinning, "this is my son, Percy, he's just started at the Ministry - and this is Fred - no, sorry, that's George -  _that's_ Fred - Bill, Charlie, Ron - my daughter, Ginny - and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Hazel Knight, and Harry Potter."

Bagman does a little double take at Harry's name, and his eyes do the little flicker towards Harry's scar, like people usually do.

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continues, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know him, he's the one who got us such good tickets-"

Bagman beams and waves his hand as if to say it was nothing. He's either really generous, or really full of himself...

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he asks eagerly, jiggling what seems to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow and black robes. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first - I offered him nice odds, since Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years - and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm for a week-long match."

"Oh, all right, then," Mr. Weasley says. "Let's see... a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Bagman repeats, looking disappointed at the low number, but he recovers quickly enough. "Very well, very well... any other takers?"

"They're a bit too young to be gambling," Mr. Weasley says. "Molly wouldn't like-"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," Fred pipes up, as he and George quickly pool all their money together. "That Ireland'll win, but Krum will catch the Snitch. Oh, and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to be showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hisses at them, but on the contrary, Ludo Bagman seems very impressed with their fake wands; his face shone with excitement as he takes it from Fred, and when it gave a great squawk and turned into a chicken, the roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one this convincing in years! I'd pay at least five Galleons for that!" Bagman exclaims, and Percy froze in stunned disapproval.

"Boys," Mr. Weasley says under his breath. "I don't want you betting... that's all your savings... your mother-"

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Arthur!" Bagman interrupts, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland'll win but Krum will catch the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance... I'll give you excellent odds on that one... we'll add five Galleons for a wand, then, shall we..."

Mr. Weasley looked on helplessly as Bagman whips out a notepad and jots down Fred and George's names.

"Cheers," George says brightly, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him, and tucking it into the front of his robes.

As Bagman turns back to Mr. Weasley, I raise an eyebrow at the pair of them.

"That's a bit of a risky move, don't you think?" I point out. "That's all your savings... and the odds of Ireland winning, but Krum catching the Snitch... that's slim to none..."

"just trust us on this one," Fred insists.

"We've got a very good feeling about this," George says.

"Whatever you say..." I mumble.

"Barty can speak about fifty different languages," Bagman's saying.

"Mr. Crouch?" Percy asks, abandoning his stiff disapproved air at the mention of his boss, and basically writhing with excitement. "He can speak over two hundred! Mermish, Gobbledegook, and Troll..."

"Anyone can speak Troll," Fred says dismissively, "all you need to do is point and grunt."

Percy shoots Fred a very nasty look, and stokes the fire vigorously to keep the kettle back to the boil.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins, yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asks, as Bagman settles down on the grass with us.

"Not a dicky bird," Bagman replies casually. "She'll turn up. Poor old Bertha... memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction... Lost, you take my word for it. She'll probably turn up sometime in October thinking it's still July."

"You don't thin it might be time to send people to look for her?" Mr. Weasley asks tentatively, as Percy hands Bagman his tea.

"Barty Crouch keeps telling me the same thing," Bagman says, his round blue eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh - talk of the devil! Barty!"

A wizard Apparates at their fireside, and it's not possible for him to contrast more to Ludo Bagman, sprawled on the grass in his Quidditch uniform, and it becomes very obvious why Percy likes him so much. Barty Crouch is a stiff, elderly man, dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair was almost unnaturally straight, and his narrow toothbrush moustache looks as though he trimmed it using a slide-rule. His shows are highly polished. Looking at him makes me realize that Uncle Gabriel would positively adore him at first sight.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Bagman says cheerfully, patting the ground beside him.

"No, thank you, Ludo," Crouch says coldly. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh, is that what they're asking?" Bagman asks, looking mildly surprised. "I thought the bloke was asking for a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"That must be one hell of an accent," I comment under my breath.

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy says breathlessly, scrambling to his feet, and sinking into a low bow that makes him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Suck-up.

"Oh," Mr. Crouch says, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes - thank you, Weatherby."

I almost drop my cup, and I have to fight back my laughter. Fred and George, on the other hand, are choking on their tea. Percy, very pink around the ears, busies himself with the kettle.

"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you, too, Arthur," Crouch adds, turning a sharp eye on Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you on your embargo on flying carpets."

Mr. Weasley gives a deep sigh. "I sent him an owl just last week about it. If I've told him once, I've told him a hundred times that carpets are defined as a Muggle object by the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"I doubt it," Crouch says, taking a cup from Percy. "He's desperate to export here."

"Well, they'll never replace brooms in Britain, will they?" Bagman says.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle," Crouch says. "I remember my grandfather had an Axminister that could seat twelve - but that was before they were banned, of course," he added, wanting it to be made clear that all of his ancestors had been law-abiding citizens.

"So, been keeping busy, Barty?" Bagman asks breezily.

"Fairly," Crouch replies. "Organizing Portkeys across five continents is not mean feat, Ludo."

"I expect you'll both be pleased when this is over, then?" Mr. Weasley says.

"Glad?! Don't know when I've had more fun..."Bagman exclaims, looking shocked. "Still, it's not like we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Still got plenty more to organize, eh?"

"We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details-" Crouch begins, raising an eyebrow at Bagman.

"Oh, details!" Bagman interrupts, waving a hand airily. "They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed, haven't they? I bet you these kids will know soon enough. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts-"

I straighten up, starting to pay more attention to Bagman's words, but Crouch speaks sharply, cutting off Bagman's remarks, "Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know. Thank you for the tea, Weatherby."

He pushes his un-drunk tea back at Percy, and waits for Bagman to stand back up, who struggles up to his feet, swigging the last of his tea, the gold clinking his pockets merrily.

"See you all later! You'll be up in the Top Box with me - I'm commentating!" he waves cheerfully, Crouch gives us a curt nod, and both of them Disapparate.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, Dad?" Fred asks at once. "What's going on?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Mr. Weasley replies vaguely, smiling.

"It's classified information, until such a time the Ministry chooses to release it," Percy says stiffly, "and Mr. Crouch was right not to disclose it."

"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," Fred says.

A sense of excitement starts to rise as the day goes on, and by dusk, it seems like the breezy summer air itself seemed to be quivering with anticipation. As darkness spreads like a curtain over the thousands of waiting wizards and witches, the Ministry finally gives up on trying to stop the signs of blatant magic going on. There's too much excitement; everyone's too rowdy.

Salesmen are Apparating, carrying trays, and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There's luminous rosettes - green for Ireland, red for Bulgaria - which squeal the name of players, pointed green hats bedecked with shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with lions that roar, flags of both countries that play their national anthem as they're waved, tiny models of Firebolts that actually fly, and collectible figures of the player that walk across your hand.

"Been saving my money all summer for this," Ron says excitedly to Harry, Hermione and I, as we make our way through the salesman, looking at different things.

While Ron buts a dancing shamrock hat, and a large green rosette, he also gets a small figure of Viktor Krum. The miniature Krum marches up and down Ron's hand, scowling up at Ron's hat.

"Wow, look at these!" Harry says excitedly, hurrying over to what look like brass binoculars, except they're covered in all sorts of knobs and dials.

"Omnioculars," the sales-wizard explains eagerly. "You can replay action, slow everything down, and they flash a play-by-play breakdown if you need them. Bargain - ten Galleons each!"

"Wish I hadn't bought these now," Ron mumbles sadly, gesturing at the shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars.

"Four pairs," Harry says firmly to the sales-wizard.

"No - don't bother," Ron says, going red. He's always been a little touchy about the fact that Harry himself is richer than Ron's entire family.

"You won't get anything for Christmas," Harry says, grinning, giving each of us a pair of Omnioculars. "For about ten years, mind."

"Fair enough," Ron grins.

"Thanks, Harry!" I exclaim gratefully, examining the Omnioculars, and playing with some of the dials.

"Oooh, thanks, Harry!" Hermione says. "I'll go get us some programs, look-"

Our money bags end up considerably lighter, as we head back to the tent. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny are all wearing green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley's carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George have no souvenirs since they gave all their money to Bagman. I walk over to them, take out my Irish rosette, and pin it onto Fred's chest, and shove my Irish flag into George's hand, without a word.

"What're you-?" George asks, confused.

"Consider it a gift," I reply simply, "from me to you. Besides, I won't be able to make much use of the flag anyway, with this," I lifted up my Omnioculars, shaking it slightly, shrugging.

Suddenly, a deep booming gong sounds somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blaze to life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch. My heart suddenly starts racing, and a huge smile spreads across my face.

"It's time!" Mr. Weasley says, looking as excited as any of us. "Come on, let's go!"

And with that, we all start walking down the path to the pitch.  _The Quidditch World Cup is about to begin._


	11. The Quidditch World Cup

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Eleven: The Quidditch World Cup**

 

Holding our stuff, Mr. Weasley in the lead, we all hurry into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. All around us, there were thousands of people laughing and talking, I can hear snatches of singing here and there. The happiness going around's contagious; I can't stop grinning. We walk through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking, and when we emerge on the other side, we're in the shadow of an enormous stadium. Even though I can only see a fraction of the gold walls surrounding the pitch, I have the feeling about ten cathedrals could fit quite nicely in here.

"Seats for a hundred thousand," Mr. Weasley says, smiling around. "Ministry task force of five hundred working on it all year. Muggle-Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time a Muggle goes anywhere near here, they suddenly remember some important meeting or appointment, and dash off... bless them," Mr. Weasley adds rather fondly, leading us towards the nearest entrance, which is already surrounded by a swarm of loud witches and wizards.

"Prime seats!" the Ministry witch at the entrance says. "Top Box! Straight ahead, Arthur, as high as you can go."

The stairs into the stadium are carpeted in a nice, rich purple. We clamber upward with the rest of the crowd, which slowly thins as they go through doors either left or right. Some of them are very impatient, and one nearly pushed me over in his haste. I send him a very rude hand gesture, before hurrying to catch up with the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. We keep on climbing up the stairs, until we finally reach the top of the staircase, and find ourselves in a small box, set at the highest pint in the stadium, and is positioned right in the centre of the two golden goal posts.

About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stand in two rows here, and as we file into the front row, I look around at the scene in front of me. Or, should I say below me? A hundred thousand witches and wizards are settling into their seats, which rises in levels along the pitch. Everything seems to be surrounded by a golden light which seems to be coming from the stadium itself. The pitch looks as smooth as velvet from our position. At either end of the pitch are the fifty feet high, three golden hoops. Right opposite them, a bit higher than eye level, is a huge blackboard. Gold writing advertising different things keeps dashing across it, then disappearing, as though an invisible giant's hand was writing it.

Harry's voice makes me look away from everything.

"Dobby?"

I whip around, and follow Harry's gaze. In the second to last seat in the row behind us, is a creature with legs so short that they stuck out the front of it on the chair, bat-like ears, wearing a tea-towel draped like a toga. It had its face in its hand, but it definitely does look like a House-Elf.  _Is_ it Dobby?

The House-Elf takes its head out of its hands, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose shaped remarkably like a tomato. No, never mind... It definitely wasn't Dobby. His nose was pointed, and his eyes were bright green.

"Did sir just call me Dobby?" the House-Elf asked in a high voice. It was even higher than Dobby's, which was a feat I didn't think was possible. This one has to be a girl.

Ron and Hermione whip around in their seats. Though they've heard a lot about Dobby from us, they've never actually met him before. Even Mr. Weasley turns around in interest.

"Sorry," Harry said, shaking his head. "I just thought you were someone I knew."

"But I is knowing Dobby, too!" the elf says excitedly. "My name is Winky, sir," her dark brown eyes study Harry for a second, resting on his scar, before saying, "and you - you is surely Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," Harry nods.

"But Dobby is talking about you all the time, sir!" Winky exclaims, looking awestruck.

"How is he?" Harry asks. "How's freedom suiting him?"

"Ah, sir," Winky begins, shaking her head. "Ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you did Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free."

"Why?" Harry asks, looking as taken aback as I felt. "What's wrong with him?"

"Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir," Winky replies sadly. "Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir."

"Why not?" Harry says.

Winky lowers her voice even more, and whispers, " _He is wanting paying for his work, sir_."

This is just all the more confusing. What's wrong with wanting to get paid?

"Paying?" Harry says blankly. "Well - why shouldn't he be paid?"

Winky looks positively terrified at the idea, and covers her face with her hands again, before parting them a bit to see us.

"House-Elves is not paid for their work, sir!" she says in a muffled squeak. "No, no, no, no. I says to Dobby, I says, go find yourself a nice family and settle down. He is getting in all sorts of high jinks, sir. You racketing around like this, Dobby, I says, and the next thing I hear you'd in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin."

"Well, it's about time Dobby had a bit of fun," Harry says, and, remembering how miserable Dobby had been with the Malfoys, I nod earnestly.

"House-Elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter," Winky says firmly, behind her hands, "House-Elves does as they is told. I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter. but my master sends me to the Top Box, and I comes, sir."

"Why did he send you up here, if you don't like heights?" Harry asks, frowning.

"Master, master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter, he is very busy," Winky says, tilting her head towards the empty space beside her. "Winky is wishing she was back at Master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky is a good elf, Winky does as she is told."

And she closes the gaps between her fingers.

"So, that's a house-elf?" Ron mutters, as we turn back around in our seats. "A bit weird, aren't they?"

"Dobby was weirder," Harry assures him, and I nod in agreement.

Ron starts playing around with him Omnioculars, laughing at some bloke across from him who's picking his nose. Meanwhile, Hermione eagerly flips through her program.

"A display of the team's mascots will precede the match," she read aloud.

"Oh, that's always worth watching," Mr. Weasley says. "National teams bring creatures from their native lands, to you know, put on a bit of a show."

The box gradually begins to fill up. Over the next half hour, Mr. Weasley keeps greeting with several people, who are obviously very important. Percy's jumping out of his seat so frequently to shake hands with people that it looks like he's trying to sit on a cactus. I roll my eyes rather pointedly at him. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, enters the box, Percy bows so low that his glasses slip off his face and shatter. Looking embarrassed, and throwing jealous looks at Harry, who fudge had greeted as an old friend, he repairs his glasses with his wand. I have to put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

Much to all of our dismay, Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, and a woman who must be Draco's mother comes edging along behind us. The woman would be very pretty, if she didn't have the facial expression that she smelled something awful. Finally, after a terribly tense conversation, they move over to their seats.

"Slimy gits," Ron comments, as we turn around in our seats once more.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman comes charging into the Top Box.

"Everyone ready?" he says, his face shining with excitement. "Minister - ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge replies uncomfortably.

Ludo whips out his wand immediately, points it at his throat, and says, " _Sonorus_!" and speaks over the roar of noise filling every corner of the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome! Welcome to the final hour of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

The spectators cheer and clap, and the blackboard's current advertisement disappears, and the words "BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO" replaces it.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"

The right-hand side of the stadium, which is a solid block of scarlet, roars in approval.

"I wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley wonders aloud, leaning forward in his seat. "Aaah!" he suddenly whips off his glasses and polishes them hurriedly on his robes. " _Veela_!"

"What're Veela?" I ask, confused, but my question is answered rather quickly.

A hundred of these Veela are gliding onto the pitch, and Veela are women. Extremely beautiful women. The most beautiful I've ever seen. But they're not human. No human can have no physical flaws like them. Their skin shines moon-bright, and there's not a single blemish to be found. They have long, white-gold hair that fans out behind them, even though there's no wind. They can't be human. There're no physical flaws... none.

Then the Veela start to dance. Look around, I see that all the boys in the Top Box seem to be under some sort of trance. As the Veela start to dance faster, George gets a sort of glazed look in his eyes. He looks as though he's going to start drooling any second now. Percy keeps opening and closing his mouth, reminding me a lot of a fish; Ron's frozen in an attitude that looks as if he's about to dive off a springboard; Fred's half out of his seat, though he's frozen in an extremely awkward position, one I'd imagine to be uncomfortable. He's staring at the Veela rapidly, as if his life depends on it. Resisting the urge to laugh, I grab the back of his jacket, and pull him back down into his chair.

"Sit down, Romeo," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Harry, what  _are_ you doing?" Hermione's voice says, as the Veela glide away to the side of the stadium.

I turn around, and see harry had stood up, and one of his legs was no resting on the wall of the box. I raise an eyebrow at him. Do the Veela really have that bad of an effect on people? The crowd's yelling angrily, none of them wanting the Veela to leave. Ron, meanwhile, is absent-mindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hand. Mr. Weasley,smiling slightly, takes the hat from his gently.

"You're going to be wanting that back, once you see what Ireland's got to say," he says matter-of-factly.

"Hmm?" Ron says, snapping out of his trance.

I'll admit, the Veela's affect on everything is starting to get really annoying. As Hermione "accidentally" jabs Ron very hard, I grab and back of Harry's jacket, and pull him back into his seat.

" _Honestly_!" Hermione says in annoyance. _  
_

"And now," Bagman continues, "kindly put your wands in the air... for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Next moment, what looks like a green-and-gold comet zooms through the stadium. It does one full circuit around the stadium, before splitting into two smaller comets, each hurtling to the goal posts. A rainbow arcs across the pitch, connecting the two little comets. A huge grin spreads across my face, as the crowd "ooohs" and "aaaahs".

The rainbow faces, and the balls of light reunite, forming a giant, shimmering shamrock, which rises high into the sky, soaring above the stands. Something lie golden rain seems to be falling from it.

"Excellent!" Ron yells, as the giant shamrock soars over our heads, and heavy golden coins rain down on our heads.

Looking closely at the shamrock, I see that it's actually composed of thousands of tiny bearded men with red waistcoats, each carrying a tiny lamp of gold or green - leprechauns. Many people are fighting and rummaging around in their seats to retrieve some gold. I get a fair amount myself, and stuff it into my pocket.

"There you go!" Ron yells happily, shoving a fistful of coins into Harry's hands. "For the Omnioculars. Now you have to buy me a Christmas present, ha!"

The great shamrock dissolved, and the leprechauns drift across the pitch, at the opposite end of the Veela, settling themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

"And now, kindly welcome - the Bulgarian national team! I give you Dimitrov!"

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast he's blurred, shot our from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. One by one, Bagman calls each player out, and they zoom out.

"Aaaand -  _Krum_!"

"That's it, that's him!" Ron says excitedly, following Krum with him Omnioculars. I quickly focus my own to get a look at him.

Krum is thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose, and thick black eyebrows. He looks something like an overgrown bird of prey. I find it hard to believe that he's only eighteen, and I find myself agreeing with Hermione; he  _does_ look very grumpy.

"And now, please greet - the Irish National Quidditch team!" Bagman yells. "Presenting - Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaand -  _Lynch_!"

Seven green blurs speed out of the pitch, and zooming in on my Omnioculars, can just make out the names embroidered on their backs.

"And here all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

A small, skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache to rival Vernon Dursley's comes striding onto the pitch, wearing robes of pure gold. A whistle's protruding from under his moustache, and in one hand he's holding a metal crate, and in the other he has a broomstick. As Mostafa mounts his broomstick, he kicks the crate open, and four balls soar into the air. I can see the two black Bludgers, the scarlet Quaffle, and the Snitch is somewhere, but I can't quite see it. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa kicks off into the air after the balls.

"Theeeeey're OFF!" Bagman screams in excitement. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

It's Quidditch like I've never seen before. A huge, awestruck smile spreads across my face, and I press the Omnioculars so hard against my face that it hurts a bit, but I hardly care. The speed of the game's amazing - the Chasers are moving so fast that Bagman just has enough time to say the players' names. Glittering purple letters flash across my lenses, and tell me what formation the players are doing.

Troy draws away from Bulgarian Chaser Ivanova, and drops the Quaffle to Moran. One of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov, swings a passing Bludger with his club, knocking it over to Moran; Moran ducks to avoid it, and drops the Quaffle, and Levski, soaring below him, catches it. Troy flies right in front of him, snatches the Quaffle, and speeds off. He dodges a Bludger sent by Volkov, flies away from Dimitrov, and-

"TROY SCORES!" Bagman yells, and all the Irish supporters scream and applaud. "Ten-zero to Ireland!"

"What?" Harry exclaims, looking around wildly with his Omnioculars. "But Levski had the Quaffle!"

"Harry, if you're not going to watch at normal speed, you're going to miss things!" Hermione shouts, jumping up and down, waving her arms as Troy does a lap of honour around the pitch.

I know enough to know that the Irish Chasers are, as I've heard, extremely talented. They work flawlessly, seeming to read each other's minds by the way they position themselves. Within ten minutes, Ireland scores two more times, making the score thirty-zero, causing thundering applause from the green-clad supporters.

The match becomes faster, but much more brutal. Volkov and Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Beaters, are whacking the Bludgers furiously at the Irish Chasers, and are starting to prevent them from making their best moves; twice they were forced to scatter, and, finally, Ivanova manages to break through their ranks, dodge the Keeper, Ryan, and score Bulgaria's first goal.

"Fingers in your ears!" Mr. Weasley bellows, as the Veela start to dance again.

All the boys do so; Harry even closes his eyes. After a few seconds, I nudge him, as though to say it's safe to open his eyes again. Bulgaria's in possession of the Quaffle once more.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova - oh, I say!" Bagman roars.

One hundred thousand witches and wizards all gasp, as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, are plummeting straight towards the ground, so fast they look like they jumped from an airplane without parachutes.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screams.

She's half-right; Krum pulls out of the dive at the very last second, spiralling off. Lynch, however, hits the ground with a dull thud that can be heard throughout the entire stadium. The lenses of my Omnioculars spells the words "Wronksi Feint".

A huge groan rises from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moans Mr. Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" Bagman's voice yells. "As trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aiden Lynch."

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie reassures Ginny, who's standing at the edge of the box, looking terrified. "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

I've never seen anyone fly like Krum. He moves so easily that it looks like he's just unsupported and weightless. I focus my Omnioculars on Krum, who's circling high above Lynch. Focusing my Omnioculars more clearly, I can see his eyes darting everywhere, clearly looking for the Snitch without any interference.

Lynch gets to his feet at last, mounts his Firebolt and kicks back into the air, to thunderous applause from the Irish supporters. his revival seems to give Ireland a new boost. When Mostafa blows his whistle again, the Chasers move with skill way more amazing than I've ever seen. After only fifteen minutes, they pull another ten goals. Ireland's going to win. It's obvious.

They're now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game's starting to get even dirtier. As Mullet shoots towards the goalpost, clutching the Quaffle tightly under her arm, the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, flies out to meet her. Whatever happens takes place so fast that I can't see it, but a scream of rage sounds from the Irish crowd, and Mostafa's long, shrill whistle, tells me it's a foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for clobbering - excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informs the roaring spectators.

Ouch. Are the Bulgarians really that desperate? They remind me vaguely of the Slytherins last year, during the final Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The Slytherins had stooped very low in an attempt to win.

"And, yes! It's a penalty to Ireland!" Bagman announces.

The leprechauns, who'd been swarming like angry bees when Zograf had fouled Moran, now dart together to form the words, "HA HA HA!"

The Veela on the other side of the pitch toss their hair angrily, and begin dancing once more. As one, the Weasley boys and Harry stuff their fingers in their ears. Mostafa catches my eyes after a second, though. Mostafa, who had landed right in front of the Veela, is flexing his muscles and smoothing his moustache excitedly.

Giggling, I point this out to Hermione, who starts giggling along with me. My giggling soon turns to loud laughter, and Fred, his fingers still in his ears, looks at me, confused. I point out the referee. He starts laughing as well.

"Now, we can't have that!" Bagman exclaims, though he looks extremely amused. "Someone go slap the referee!"

Fred looks up at Bagman, having not heard what he said.

"Oh, take your fingers out of your ears," I say impatiently, and when he looks at me questioningly, I stuff them out of his ears for him. "Look!" I say, pointing at a medi-wizard, who has his own fingers stuffed in his ears, walking towards Mostafa, and kicking him hard on the shins.

Mostafa seems to come to himself at that, and looking extremely embarrassed, starts shouting at the Veela, who've stopped dancing.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian mascots," Bagman announces. "Now, there's something we haven't seen before... oh, this could turn nasty..."

It does. The Bulgarian Beaters fly over to Mostafa, and begin arguing furiously with him, pointing angrily over to the leprechauns, who have now formed the words "HEE HEE HEE" I really like these leprechauns. I swear, the mascots are providing more entertainment than the actual players, right now. Mostafa, however, doesn't seem very impressed with their arguments; he keeps jabbing his finger into the air, clearly indicating they better get back on their brooms. When they don't, however, Mostafa makes two sharp blows on his whistle.

" _Two_ penalties for Ireland!" Bagman exclaims, and the Bulgarian crowd howls with anger. "And Volkov and Vulchanov better get back on their brooms... yes, there we go... Troy takes the Quaffle."

The game reaches a level of ferocity beyond anything any of us have ever seen. The Beaters on both sides are showing no mercy whatsoever; Volkov and Vulchanov in particular don't seem to care if their clubs hit a Bludger of a human. Dimitrov shoots straight at Moran, almost knocking her off her broom.

"FOUL!" roars the Irish crowd as one, standing up in a great wave of green.

"Foul!" Bagman echoes. "Dimitrov skins Moran - deliberately flying to collide, there - and it's got to be another penalty - yes, there's the whistle!"

The leprechauns form together, making a giant hand, which is sticking up its middle finger across the pitch towards the Veela. I burst out laughing once more, extremely amused by the leprechauns. The Veela, however, lose control completely. They launch themselves across the pitch, and start throwing something at the leprechauns. Looking closer with my Omnioculars, I see that they're actually balls of  _fire_. Looking at the Veela themselves, I see that they don't look remotely beautiful any more. In fact, their faces are elongating into sharp, cruel beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings are bursting from their shoulders.

"And  _that,_ boys," Mr. Weasley yells over all the shouting going on, "is why you should never go by looks along."

I let out another laugh, in spite of myself. Many Ministry wizards start flooding onto the pitch, trying to break up the fight between the Veela and the leprechauns, with very little success. Meanwhile, the battle between the mascots is nothing compared to the battle between the actual players.

I turn my Omnioculars this way and that, as the Quaffle changes direction at the speed of a bullet.

"Levski - Dimitrov - Moran - Troy - Ivanova - Moran again - Moran - MORAN SCORES!"

But the cheers of the Irish supporters are completely drowned out by the shrieks of the Veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry wizards' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians.

"Holy fuck, are the matches  _usually_ like this?" I yell, grinning.

"Not that I've heard of," Ron shouts back.

The Irish Beater, Quigley, swings heavily at a passing Bludger, hitting as hard as he could towards Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him in the face.

There's a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looks broken, there's blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa doesn't blow his whistle. He's distracted, because one of the Veela had thrown a ball of fire at him, and had set his broom alight. Is that even allowed?

I want someone to realize that Krum's injured; even though I'm supporting Ireland, Krum's the most exciting player on the pitch.

"Time out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him-" Ron says angrily.

" _Look at Lynch_!" Harry yells, interrupting Ron's protests.

I look over at the Irish Seeker, who's suddenly gone into a dive, and it doesn't look like any Wronksi Feint; it must be the real thing...

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouts. "He's seen it! Look at him go..."

Half the crowd has realized what's going on. The Irish supporters are on their feet again, cheering their Seeker on, but Krum is right on his tail. I find it hard to believe that Krum can even see where he's going, with the flecks of blood flying everywhere, but he's drawing level with Lynch, as the pair hurtles towards the ground once more.

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screams for the second time.

"They're not!" Ron roars.

"Lynch is!" Harry yells.

And Harry's right - for the second time that night, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force, and is immediately stampeded by a horde of Veela.

"Can someone please get them the hell out of here?" I scream furiously, gesturing towards the Veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" Charlie yells, along the row.

"He's got it - Krum's got it - it's all over!" Harry says.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood, is rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard is flashing "BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY" across the crowd, who, for the most part, doesn't seem to understand what just happened.

Then slowly, like a jumbo jet revving up, the rumbling from the Irish supporters grows louder and louder, until they erupt into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouts, who, like the Irish, seem to be shocked at the outcome of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH, BUT IRELAND WINS - good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that..."

"Well, I know two people who were," I mumble, looking over at Fred and George in disbelief, who look ecstatic.

"Told you we knew what we were doing, Knight!" George exclaims, jumping up and down.

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellows, jumping up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland was a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry yells over all the noise. "The Irish Chasers are too good... he wanted to end it on his own terms, that's all..."

"He was rather brave, wasn't he?" Hermione says, looking over to watch Krum land, and a swarm of medi-wizards go over to help him, blasting through a battle between leprechauns and Veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess..."

I zoom in with my Omnioculars to look at the scene. It's a bit hard to tell, because the leprechauns are zooming around triumphantly, but I can just make out Krum, surrounded by medi-wizards. He looks surlier than ever, and refuses to let them mop him up. His team-mates are around him, looking disappointed and dejected, shaking their heads; a short way away, the Irish players are dancing gleefully in a shower of gold coming from the leprechauns, the Irish anthem playing from all sides; the Veela are back to their beautiful selves, but they look dispirited and forlorn. Maybe it's just me, now that I've seen their ugly side, but the Veela look a touch less beautiful than they did when I first saw them.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," a gloomy voice says behind Harry. I turn around in my seat, and see it's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"You can speak English," Fudge says furiously, "and you had me mime everything all day?"

"Vell, it vos funny," the Minister says, shrugging, and I let out a laugh; I think I like this Minister more than my own Minister.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!" Bagman roars.

My eyes are suddenly blinded by a dazzling bright light, as the Top Box is illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see inside. Squinting towards the entrance, I saw two panting wizards carrying a vast golden cup, that they hand to Fudge, who still looks disgruntled that he spent the entire day using sign language for nothing.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers - Bulgaria!" Bagman shouts.

And up the stairs come the seven defeated-looking players. The crowd below applaud appreciatively; I can see thousands of Omnioculars flashing and winking in our direction.

One by one, Bagman calls their names, as they shook hands with their own minister, and then Fudge. Krum, who's last in line, looks a real mess. Two black eyes are blooming on his bloody face. I notice that he's still holding the Snitch. He also seems to be a lot less coordinated on the ground. He's slightly duck-footed, and distinctly round-shouldered. But when Krum's name is called, the entire audience gives him an ear-splitting roar.

And then comes the Irish team. Lynch is being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seems to have dazed him, and his eyes look strangely unfocused. But he grins happily as Troy and Quigley lift the cup into the air, and the crowd thunders its approval. My hands feel numb from clapping so long, and so hard.

At last, when the Irish team leaves the box to perform another lap on their brooms, Bagman pointed his wand at his throat, and muttered, " _Quietus_."

"They'll be talking about that one for years," Bagman says hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that... shame it couldn't last longer... ah yes... yes, I owe you... how much?"

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats, and are standing in front of Ludo Bagman, wide grins on their faces, holding out their hands.


	12. The Dark Mark

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twelve: The Dark Mark**

 

Back at the boys' tent, nobody feels like sleeping at all, so we all start arguing leisurely about the match. We can all hear loud singing and talking from outside, and flickering lanterns, which are from the leprechauns, all of which are flying and cackling outside.

"Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on," George remarks, laughing.

"There's no one like Krum," Ron suddenly announces rather dramatically, hopping onto the couch, and looking around. "He's like a bird, the way he flies!"

"Krum?" Fred questions, raising an eyebrow.

"Dumb Krum?" George continues, and the pair of them start flapping their arms around like weird birds, much to my amusement.

"He's more than just an athlete - he's an artist!" Ron insists, ignoring Fred and George.

"I think you're in love, Ron!" Ginny announces, patting Ron's arm.

"Shut up, Ginny!" Ron says, now looking embarrassed.

"Viktor, I love you..." Fred begins, grinning.

"Viktor, I do..." George continues.

"When we're apart my heart beats only for you!" Harry, Fred, and George all say, laughing.

"Shut it," Ron insists, now laughing, throwing a pillow at Harry, who's closest.

It's only when Ginny falls asleep right on the tiny table, spilling her hot chocolate right on the floor, does Mr. Weasley insists that we all get to bed. So, Hermione, Ginny and I all go to the next tent, change into our pyjamas, and climb into bed, me claiming the top bunk.

"Not sure that's a good idea, Hazel," Ginny comments sleepily, laughing. "You might fall over..."

"Nobody's clumsy in their sleep, though!" I insist.

"With you, there's no guarantee, sometimes..." Ginny mumbles.

"Hey! I heard that!" I laugh.

"You were supposed to, Hazel," she assures me, then adds, "G'night, you lot."

"Goodnight," Hermione and I chorus.

I snuggle up under the blankets, my eyes closed, imagining playing Quidditch professionally as a Chaser. Playing in the Quidditch World Cup. Helping bring my team to victory... Being as good as the Irish Chasers...

I'm in a sort of semi-conscious state, when I feel someone shaking me roughly, jerking me suddenly back into reality.

"Get up! Hazel - come on, get up, this is urgent!" Mr. Weasley says desperately.

"Wha - what's going on?" I ask groggily, sitting up.

I can dimly tell that something's wrong. The noises outside the tent is different. Instead of joyful, carefree laughter, talking and singing, and I can hear the sound of people screaming and the pounding of people's footsteps.

"No time, just grab a jacket and get outside - quickly!"

I do as I'm told, grabbing the first jacket I can get my hands on, and throwing it on haphazardly. I grab my wand, and along with Hermione, and Ginny, we rush out of the rent, Mr. Weasley right behind us. At that moment, Bill, Percy, and Charlie all rush out, fully dressed, their sleeves rolled up and their wands in hand.

I look around at the scene. People are running around, there are flashes of light going around everywhere. I can hear drunken yelling, and there's a group of people, walking in a tight pack, all pointing their wands at the same point above them. Four figures are suspended in the air, looking something like puppets being controlled by the wizards below. I recognize one of them; Mr. Roberts, the camp manager. Two of the small, younger looking figures must be his kids, and the woman being suspended upside down, and with her underwear showing, must be his wife.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley yells over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. "You lot, get in the woods and stick together - we'll come and get you once everything's sorted out!"

"C'mon," Fred says after a second, taking Ginny's hand, and leading her over to the trees. The rest of us follow.

The lanterns that had lit the woods before, have gone out. It's completely dark, and the scene is only sometimes illuminated by flashes of light. Children are crying, and there are scared, anxious screams.

Out of nowhere, I trip over what I think is a tree root, and can feel my right ankle twisting, before I fall flat on my face. I let out a cry of pain.

"What happened?" Hermione asks anxiously, as I roll over, and sit up carefully. "Hazel, where are you? Oh, this is stupid -  _Lumos_!"

The tip of Hermione's wand ignites, illuminating her face. She points it over at me, and I raise my hand to shield my face from the dazzling light.

"Tripped over a tree root," I say, trying to get up, but crumpling back to the floor when I tried to put weight on my right ankle. "I think I messed up my ankle, too..."

"What a surprise," a drawling voice calls sarcastically, as Harry goes to help me up, allowing me to lean on him for support.

We all turn around sharply. Draco Malfoy is leaning quite casually against a tree, seeming to have watched the scene going on a the campsite, and looking quite serene.

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," Ron snaps.

"Language, Weasley," Malfoy says, his pale eyes glittering. "Hadn't you better be hurrying along? You wouldn't like  _her_ to be spotted, would you, Weasley?"

He nods over at Hermione, and at that moment, a blast like a bomb sounds from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lights the trees around us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asks defiantly.

"Granger, they're after Muggles," Malfoy replies, as though this should be obvious. "D'you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? If so, hand around... they're coming this way, and it'd give us all a laugh..."

"Hermione's a witch," I snarl.

"Have it your way, Knight," Malfoy shrugs, grinning maliciously. "If you don't think they can spot a Mudblood, stick around..."

"You watch your mouth!" Ron shouts.

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione mutters quickly, taking his arm to restrain him as Ron took a step towards Malfoy.

A loud bang louder than anything I've heard sounds from the other side of the trees, and several people scream. Malfoy chuckles softly, still not looking concerned. Of course he isn't... his parents are obviously a part of that group of people.... what does  _he_ have to fear?

"Scare easily, don't they?" he says lazily. "I suppose it was your daddy who told you to hide here? What's he up to - trying to rescue the Muggles?"

"Where're your parents?" Harry retorts angrily. "Out there wearing masks?"

"Well, if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?" Malfoy replies, turning to face Harry, still smiling.

"Oh, come on," Hermione says, with a disgusted look at Malfoy. "Let's go and find the others."

"Keep that big, bushy head down, Granger!" Malfoy calls after us. I stick my middle finger up at him, quite angry.

"I'll bet you anything that his dad is one of the masked lot!" Ron says hotly.

"Well, hopefully, the Ministry will be able to catch him," Hermione says fervently. "Oh, I can't believe this. Where have the other gotten to?"

Fred, George, and Ginny are absolutely nowhere to be found, though the path is packed with loads of other people, all talking in whispers, looking scared and anxious.

"They can't have gone far..." Ron mumbles, taking his wand and lighting it, like Hermione's, and I follow suit. Harry goes to get his wand, as well, but after a few seconds, he looks very nervous.

"Ah, no, I don't believe it - I've lost my wand!"

"You're kidding!" I exclaim. In a situation like this... he's got to have his wand!

Ron, Hermione and I all raise our wands everywhere, but Harry's wand is nowhere to be found.

"Maybe it's back in the tent," Ron says.

"Maybe you dropped it while we were running?" Hermione suggests.

"Yeah, maybe..." Harry agrees vaguely.

A rustling nose makes us all jump. Winky's hurrying through the path, though in a very weird way, almost with great difficulty; it looks like some invisible force is pulling her back. She continues to fight to keep running, muttering to herself, until she disappears behind the trees.

"What's up with her?" Ron asks, staring after Winky curiously. "Why couldn't she run properly?"

"Bet she didn't have permission to hide," Harry says, reminding me of Dobby, whenever he did something without permission, he would start to beat himself up.

"You know, house-elves get a very raw deal!" Hermione says indignantly. "It's slavery, that's what it is! Winky's terrified of heights, but Mr. Crouch forced her to sit at the Top Box for him. And now he's got her bewitched so that she can't even run when they've started trampling tents! Why doesn't anybody do anything about it?"

"Well, they're happy like that, aren't they?" Ron points out. "You heard Winky. 'House-elves isn't supposed to have fun'. It's what she likes, being bossed around..."

"It's wizards like you, Ron," Hermione begins hotly, "that prop up rotten and unjust systems just because they're too lazy to-"

Another long echo bangs from the campsite.

"Let's just keep moving," I say quickly. Now's not the time to be debating house-elf rights... Besides, Malfoy, as much as I hate to say it, might have a point; maybe Hermione  _is_ in more danger than we are...

After a bit of a walk, once all the voices have faded, and we seem to be very alone, we find ourselves in the very heart of the woods.

"We should just wait here," Harry says. "We'll be able to hear anything from a mile off."

Ron leads us into a small clearing a little way off, and sits down on a bit of dry grass, near a tree. Harry leads me over to where Ron's sitting, and places me beside him gently.

"Thank you," I say gratefully, sighing slightly as I sit down.

"How's your ankle feeling?" Ron asks.

"Not too bad, I guess. It hurts, but I reckon it's only sprained," I shrug. "It'll be fine in no time."

Ron takes out his small figure of Krum, sets it on the ground, and watches it walk around. Just like the real Krum, it's slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, much less impressive than he is on a broomstick. I listen intently for some sort of noise from the campsite, but it's completely silent, except for the occasional rustling of leaves when the figure of Krum walked one. Maybe the riot's over...

"I hope the other's are okay," Hermione says, after a while.

"They'll be fine," Ron says immediately, though he looks a little worried himself.

"Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy," Harry says, sitting down on the other side of Ron, and looking over at him. "He always said he'd like to get something on him."

"Now  _that'd_ be something to celebrate," I say, grinning.

"That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right," Ron agrees.

"Those poor Muggles, though," Hermione says nervously. "What if they can't get them down?"

"They will," Ron says. "They'll find a way."

"Mad, though, pulling something like that with so many Ministry wizards around!" I add. "Did they really think they'd get away with it? Have they been drinking, or are they just - Hermione, what's up?"

Hermione's looking over her shoulder, frowning slightly. We all turn around, too, listening to the sound of uneven footsteps pounding nearby.

"Hello?" Harry calls. When there's no reply, he says, getting to his feet, "Who's there?"

There's no reply. Another moment of silence... Then, a shout rents through the air. A man's voice. And it doesn't yell a panicked shout, but what sounds like a spell.

" _MORSMORDRE_!"

Something cast, green, and glittering erupts into the sky, flying past the trees, lighting the darkness. It's a huge skull, with a serpent sticking out of its mouth like a tongue, blazing in the darkness in a haze of greenish smoke like a new constellation.

"What the-?" Ron gasps, jumping to his feet, and hurrying to help me up as well, so that I lean on him for support.

"Who's there?" Harry calls again.

"Harry, come on, move!" Hermione moans, and, looking over at her, I'm shocked to see that she looks very white, and frightened.

"What's the matter?" Harry asks, startled.

"That's the Dark Mark, Harry, that's You-Know-Who's sign," Hermione replies anxiously.

"Voldemort's-"

"Come  _on_ ," Hermione insists desperately.

Harry turns around, but before we can do much walking, the sound of popping tells us that around twenty wizards have just arrives. All of their wands are out, and all of them pointed at us.

"DUCK!" Harry yells quickly, and pulls us down onto the ground.

Harry was right on time, for, at that moment, all twenty voices roar, " _STUPEFY_!"

My hair starts rippling, as though as intense breeze has just swept over the clearing, and beams of red light fly through the sky, right above my head.

Suddenly, a voice I recognize, yells, "Stop! STOP! That's my son!"

The flashes suddenly stop, and Mr. Weasley comes towards us, helping us all to our feet, and I let out a little gasp of pain when I put weight on my ankle again. I quickly put my arm over Ron's shoulder, leaning on him again.

Mr. Weasley quickly asks us if we're all right, but before we can answer, Mr. Crouch hurries forward, accusing us of conjuring that thing in the sky - that Dark Mark. Mr. Crouch seems to be the only one who actually thinks we did it. Mr. Diggory, Cedric's father, hurries over to the spot where we said we saw the person cast the spell, and he comes out, holding a limp Winky.

Mr. Crouch refuses to believe it, and goes to look for something else, but there's nothing there. Mr. Diggory, seems fully convinced that it's Winky who conjured the Dark Mark, which is unbelievable. She's need a wand!

When Mr. Weasley points this out, much to my surprise, he pulls out a wand, saying that Winky was in fact holding it. But... that's Harry's wand! When Harry says, this, Mr. Diggory seems to think this means that Harry conjured the Dark Mark. But Mr. Weasley, thankfully, points out that  _Harry Potter_ isn't very likely to conjure Voldemort's sign.

When Mr. Diggory seems completely convinced that Winky conjured the Dark Mark, Mr. Crouch speaks up for the first time in a while, saying that Mr. Diggory is implying that Mr. Crouch has taught Winky how to conjure the Dark Mark, since she is Mr. Crouch's elf, so where else would she learn it?

"Mr. Crouch - I never suggested that you had anything to do with it!" Mr. Diggory insists, and he has a deer-in-the-headlights kind of look on his face.

"If you accuse my elf, you accuse me!" Mr. Crouch shouts. "Where else would she learn how to conjure it?"

"Might've picked it up anywhere," Mr. Diggory mumbles.

"Precisely, Amos," Mr. Weasley nods. " _She might've picked it up anywhere._ Winky? Where exactly did you find Harry's wand?"

His voice is very kind, but Winky flinches all the same, as if Mr. Weasley's shouting at her too.

"I... I is finding it over there, sir," Winky answers shakily, pointing over to the trees. "By the trees..."

"See, Amos?" Mr. Weasley says, looking over at Mr. Diggory. "Whoever conjured the Dark Mark found Harry's wand, conjured it, then Disapparated right after. Very clever, not to use his own wand, in it betrayed them. And Winky had the misfortune to come across it and pick it up moments later."

"But then she'll have been feet away from the culprit!" Mr. Diggory says impatiently. "Elf! Did you see anyone here?"

"I... I is not seeing anyone," Winky replies, trembling worse than ever.

Mr. Crouch, looking very cold, says that Winky will be getting clothes. When a house-elf received clothes from their master, it means that they're being freed. Winky begs desperately, but Mr. Crouch just looks at Winky in disgust. What's he playing at? Winky didn't do anything, and he's  _still_ going to sack her?

"What's going to happen to Winky?" Hermione asks Mr. Weasley, the moment Harry, Ron, Hermione, Mr. Weasley and I finally leave the clearing.

"I don't know," Mr. Weasley answers. Hermione begins to rant about how unfairly Winky was being treated, so Mr. Weasley interrupts her, saying, "Hermione, I agree, but right now isn't the time to be discussing house-elf rights."

At the edge of the woods, however, Ministry wizards hurry forwards, firing questions at Mr. Weasley, who brushes them aside, saying he'd like to get to bed. He leads us through the campsite. All's quiet now. There're no more wizards in masks, though some tents are trampled.

Charlie's head pokes out of the boys' tent.

"Dad, what's going on?" he calls. "Fred, George, and Ginny got back okay, but what about the others-"

"I've got them here," Mr. Weasley replies, bending down and entering the tent. We follow.

Bill's sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bed sheet to his arm, which is bleeding a lot. Charlie has a large rip in his shirt, and Percy has a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny, thankfully look unhurt, though shaken. They all look very relieved to see us.

"Did you get them, Dad?" Bill asks sharply. "The person who conjured the Mark?"

"No," Mr. Weasley shakes his head. "We found Barty Crouch's elf holding Harry's wand, but we're none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark."

" _What_?" Bill, Charlie, and Percy say together.

"Harry's wand?" Fred repeats.

" _Mr. Crouch's elf_?" Percy adds, sounding and looking thunderstruck.

With a bit of help from Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I, Mr. Weasley explains what had happened in the woods. When we finish the story, Percy swells indignantly.

"Well, Mr. Crouch is quite right to get rid of an elf like that!" he says. "Running away when he'd expressly told her not to... embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry... how would that have looked, if she'd been brought up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control-"

"She didn't do anything - she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!" Hermione snaps, earning a very surprised look from Percy. Hermione had always gotten along with Percy better than most of the Weasley boys.

"Hermione, a wizard in Mr. Crouch's position can't afford a house-elf who's going to run amok with a wand!" Percy insists pompously, recovering himself.

"Oh, shut up, Weatherby," I mumble.

"She didn't run amok!" Hermione shouts. "She just picked it up off the ground!"

"Look, can someone just explain what that skull thing was?" Ron cuts in impatiently. "It wasn't hurting anyone... Why's it such a big deal?"

"I told you, it's You-Know-Who's symbol, Ron," Hermione says, before anyone else. "I read about it in  _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_."

"And it hasn't been seen for thirteen years," Mr. Weasley says quietly. "Of course people panicked... it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again."

"I don't get it," Ron insists, frowning. "I mean... it's still only a shape in the sky..."

"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed," Mr. Weasley explains. "The terror it inspired... you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside..." Mr. Weasley winces. "Everyone's worst fear... they very worst."

There's silence for a moment. Then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on his cut, says, "Well, it didn't help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we'd got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They're having their memories modified right now."

"Death Eaters?" I repeat. "What are Death Eaters?"

"It's what You-Know-Who's supporters called themselves," Bill answers. "I think we saw that's left of them tonight - the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway."

"We can't prove it was them, Bill," said Mr. Weasley. "Though it probably was," he added hopelessly.

"Yeah, I bet it was!" said Ron suddenly. "Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!"

"But what were Voldemort's supporters-" Harry begins. Everybody except me flinches - like most of the wizarding world, the Weasleys always avoided saying Voldemort's name. "Sorry," Harry adds quickly. "What were You-Know-Who's supporters up to, levitating Muggles? I mean, what was the point?"

"The point?" Mr. Weasley let out a hollow laugh. "Harry, that's their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killing back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn't resist reminding us all that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them," he finishes in disgust.

"But if they were the Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?" Ron asks. "They'd have been pleased to see it wouldn't they?"

"Use your brain, Ron," Bill says. "If they really were Death Eaters, they worked very hard to keep out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to kill and torture people. I bet they'd be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they'd ever been involved with him when he lost his powers, and went back to their daily lives... I don't reckon he's be over-pleased with them, do you?"

"So... whoever conjured the Dark Mark..." said Hermione slowly, "were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters, or to scare them away?"

"Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione," said Mr. Weasley. "But I'll tell you this... it was only the Death Eaters who ever knew how to conjure it. I'd be very surprised if the person who did it hadn't been a Death Eater once, even if they're not now..."

"Hey, Hazel, what's wrong?" Charlie asks suddenly, nodding at me, noticing how I'm leaning on Ron for support right now.

"Tripped over a tree root," I reply. "Think I might've sprained it..."

"Here, let me try and fix it up," Mr. Weasley says, gesturing for me to sit down on the couch. "I'm not good at these types of spells, but I'll be able to fix it up enough until tomorrow. Molly'll be able to fix it up completely."

Ron leads me over to the couch, and places me onto it. Carefully, swearing violently under my breath, I take off my boot, and my sock. My ankle's swollen, and when I tap it lightly with my finger, I let out a little cry of pain. Mr. Weasley walks over, bends down, and looks at my ankle.

"Yes, definitely sprained," he mutters, taking out his wand, pointing it at my ankle, and muttering a spell.

There's a slight relief, and I let out a little sigh.

"Thanks," I say, pulling my sock back on, but not bothering to put my boot back on.

"Listen, it's very late, and when your mother hears what's happened, she'll be worried sick. We should all get a few more hours of sleep, and try to get an early Portkey out of here," Mr. Weasley says.

Back in the girls' tent, I throw off my coat, and put my wand back on the table, and collapse into bed. Ginny and I switch bunks, since I won't be able to climb up and down the ladder to the top bunk with my ankle. My head's buzzing with everything that just happened, everything I just saw and heard...

How could I possibly go to sleep? What was that Dark Mark? Nobody was killed, so what was the meaning of it? Was it to show support of the Death Eaters and Voldemort, and show that Death Eaters are still at large, or was it to show contempt at the former Death Eaters, the one that denied ever working with Voldemort?

Finally, though, after what feels like ages, I manage to drift off to sleep.


	13. In Bed All Day

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Thirteen: In Bed All Day**

 

The next day, Mr. Weasley wakes us up again after only a few more hours of sleep, and we manage to get another Portkey back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun has even really risen. We walk through Ottery St. Catchpole towards the Burrow, barely talking because we're all so tired, thinking longingly of breakfast.

As we round a corner, and the Burrow comes into view, a cry echoes along the damp lane.

"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley, who much have been waiting ion the front yard, comes running toward us, her face pale and strained, clutching a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_. "Arthur, I've been so worried - so worried!" she flings her arms around her husband's neck, and the copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ falls to the ground, and I get a glimpse of the headline: "SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP". Right under it, is a twinkling, black-and-white picture of the Dark Mark.

"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley mutters distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and looking around at all of us, "you're alive... oh,  _boys_!" and to everybody's surprise - especially, apparently, Fred and George - Mrs. Weasley seizes Fred and George and pulls them both into such a tight hug that their heads bang together. I watch the scene, madly fighting not to smile.

"Ouch! Mum - you're strangling us-"

"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley sobs. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got to you, and the last thing I said to you is that you didn't get enough O.W.L's? Oh, Fred... George..."

"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," Mr. Weasley says soothingly, prising her off Fred and George, and leading her back into the house. "Bill," he adds in an undertone, "pick up that paper. I want to see what it says..."

When we're all crammed inside the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of strong tea, where Mr. Weasley had insisted on pouring a shot of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, Bill hands his father the newspaper. He scans the newspaper, while Percy looks over his shoulder.

"I knew it," Mr. Weasley says heavily. " _Ministry blunders... culprits not apprehended... lax security... Dark wizards running unchecked... national disgrace..._ Who wrote this? Ah, of course... Rita Skeeter..."

"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" Percy bursts out furiously. "Last week she was saying that we're wasting time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't  _specifically_ stated in paragraph twelve of the  _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans-_ "

"Do us a favour, Perce," Bill says, yawning, "and shut up."

"Molly, I'm going to have to go into the office, this is going to take some smoothing over," Mr. Weasley says, heaving a deep sigh, after finishing the article.

"I'll come too, Father," Percy says importantly. "Mr. Crouch will need all hands on deck, and I can give him my cauldron report in person," he bustles out of the kitchen, with me resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, looks very upset.

"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This really doesn't have to do with your office, surely they'll be fine without you?" Mrs. Weasley says.

"I've got to go," Mr. Weasley says firmly. "I've made things worse. I'll just change my robes, and I'll be off..."

He hurries out of the kitchen. There's a moment of silence, and when I shift my right foot, I remember the pain in my ankle.

"Mrs. Weasley?" I say tentatively.

"Yes, dear?" she said, looking rather absent-minded.

"Uhm, well, during the riot, it was really dark in the woods, and I tripped over a tree root. Mr. Weasley says its sprained. He fixed it up a little, but it still hurts. Could you please-"

"Oh, of course, dear!" she said, gesturing for me to sit on the sofa.

Harry helps me across to it, though I don't think it's very necessary any more. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see someone moving very awkwardly, and I half glance over, and see it was Fred, who looks like he wanted to walk over to me, but quickly went back into his normal position, clearly hoping no one saw. I look away quickly, pretending it didn't happen.

I sit down, Mrs. Weasley insists that I lay down, elevating my foot with a couple cushions. I obey, and sink back, raising my foot and placing it on a small stack of cushions. She examines my ankle for a moment.

"This'll be easy enough to fix," she announces, before muttering a spell, and there's a huge relief of pain on my ankle. I let out a little sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much," I say gratefully, sitting up.

"You're quite welcome. You'll have to take it easy, though. just stay in bed, all right, and remember to keep your leg elevated."

"For the entire day?" I ask, my heart sinking slightly. I only wanted to get a couple hours more sleep, before I was up and about again.

"Yes, dear," she confirms, nodding, smiling kindly. "Just for the day, though. There's some spare pillows in one of the drawers in the hall on the floor of Ginny's room. Use those to keep your leg elevated."

"All right," I say, standing back up gingerly, and walking upstairs.

I take some of the spare pillows Mrs. Weasley had indicated for me to take, and enter Ginny's bedroom. I change into a pair of pyjamas carefully, and crawl into bed, placing my pillows at where my feet would be, and place my foot on top of it. I let out a little sigh. It's blissfully warm under the covers, and I'm extremely tired, but the position I'm in is kind of uncomfortable, and I can't move around much, or curl up in a ball, like I usually do when I sleep. All the same, I close my eyes, and try to get some sleep.

I do manage to drift off to sleep, but when I wake up again, I find myself in a very awkward position that makes me question how I even managed to sleep like this. I sit up, running my fingers through my hair, and look around at the wall clock, its ticking sounding extremely loud, because of how silent it is. Five o'clock. Hmm, I've been out for a lot longer than I expected I'd be.

My stomach growls with hunger, and, sliding my hand under my shirt, I rub it wistfully. I obviously slept through lunch. They must've not wanted to wake me. I wish they had. I'm really hungry now. But dinner will be quite soon, won't it? Maybe an hour or so, surely. So, I'll just have to find some way to pass the time until dinner's ready. I walk over to my trunk, and take out a book on Quidditch, crawl back into bed, and start reading.

Around an hour later, I can hear someone knocking on the door to my room.

"Come in," I say lightly, bookmarking my page.

"Well, well, well, look who's finally up," Fred announces, walking inside,and sitting down at the foot of my bed.

"I've been up for a while, Freddie," I say, smiling slightly.

"How's your ankle feeling?" he asks, glancing down at my elevated foot.

"It was fine every since she did that spell on it, to tell you the truth," I admit, shrugging. "Mrs. Weasley just wants me to stay in bed all day a a precaution. A torturous precaution. It's so dull, staying in bed all alone and doing nothing all day..."

"All alone? Are you implying you'd like someone in bed  _with_ you. Hazel, love, you're only fourteen," he says, grinning.

"Shut up," I laugh, taking the pillow behind me, and whacking him with it, trying not to grin like an idiot because he just called me 'love'.

"Make me," he says, sticking his tongue out at me.

"What are you, five?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm actually seven, thank you very much," he retorts.

"You're welcome very much," I say, making a weird sort of face, upon realizing how weird that sounds.

"Now who's five?" Fred says, laughing.

"Hmmm," I put on a weird, mock-thinking face. "I'm going to have to say you, Freddie."

"Rude," he says, pretending to pout.

"Deal with it," I laugh. "So, why are you here, anyway?"

"Why, you don't enjoy my company?" he grins, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope," I tease, and when he punches my arm lightly, I add, "I just didn't think you'd consider it fun to hang out with the girl with a sprained ankle in the quiet room."

"If you must know, I've been sent on a quest to inform you that it's time for dinner, so let's go," Fred explains, making it sound like he went on an extremely dangerous mission.

"How brace of you," I laugh, getting to my feet.

"I know," Fred agrees arrogantly. "I almost died."

"My  _hero_ ," I joke.

Fred laughs, and we walk down the stairs to dinner. I look around the room, and note that neither Mr. Weasley or Percy are back.

"How's your ankle feeling, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks, when she sees the two of us emerging into the room.

"It's doing great," I reply earnestly, as we take two empty seats nearby, hoping that I wouldn't have to spend the rest of the day all by myself in bed. "Like, really great."

She smiles, noticing my attempt to get her to tell me I won't have to spend the rest of the day in bed. "Wonderful. But you should still stay in bed for the rest of the afternoon, to be safe."

Once again, I hold back a little sigh, and nod. "All right."

She starts loading my plate with food, much to my content. I eat as slowly as possible, not in any hurry to go back to bed. But when everyone is finally finished, I stand up, and head back to Ginny's room, stretching as I stood back up.

I'd just settled into bed, however, when someone knocks on the door again.

"Come in," I say once again, putting the book that I was just about to read down.

Fred walks back in, sitting down at the foot of my bed once more.

"Fred, what're you doing here?" I ask, straightening up, and trying not to act too excited he's here.

"Decided to keep you company," Fred shrugs. "It must be a pain to sit around here and not do anything at all..."

"It is," I agree, sighing gratefully. "Thank you."

"You so owe me," he jokes, winking.

"Hey, remember when I gave you that merchandise from the Cup when you didn't have any money? I think this should be considered as you repaying me," I laugh.

"All right, fine. Only because I'm generous," he says, grinning.

"Sure you are, Fred," I say sarcastically, grinning.

"Hurtful," he says, holding his chest in mock pain.

"Wimp," I say, punching him lightly.

We start talking and laughing a bit more, teasing each other, the usual banter.

"So, what did you think of the Martins?" I ask, laughing, then instantly regret it; for, the moment I brought up when Fred met my uncle, I think of when we almost kissed. Oh God, please don't let him talk about it. Please just let him talk about Uncle Gabriel for a moment then move on...

Fred looks rather awkward too, but he just shrugs, laughing, and says, "Oh, they're a real pleasure. Very delightful."

"I know, right?" I say, winking.

"I didn't get to meet that lovely cousin of yours, though," Fred says, pretending to look genuinely disappointed. "Candy, her name was?"

"Yup," I confirm, nodding. "Be glad, though. She probably would've tried to flirt with you... until, of course, she realized that you were a wizard, and would run away."

Fred made a disgusted sort of face. "Oh, gross. Thank God I didn't see her. From what you tell me, she's not quite my type, funnily enough."

"Really? I could totally see you two getting married and having loads and  _loads_ of children. like, at least ten, maybe-"

"Hazey, ugh, don't torture me like that," Fred groans, taking a pillow nearby and burying his face into it. I laugh, thinking fondly of how cute he is.

"Now you know how I felt when you went on about how me and Harry were perfect together," I say, crossing my arms and smiling triumphantly.

"Come in, it can't have been  _that_ bad," Fred protests.

"All right, fine, being with Candy  _would_ be much worse," I admit, shrugging.

"There you go," he says, nodding in approval. "Besides, I hardly believe that you and Harry would make  _that_ much of a good couple any more, anyway."

"Really? What made you finally see sense, Freddie?" I ask, staring up at him in mock-awe.

"I dunno," Fred shrugs, and he looks down at the sheets. "Just think you'd be better off with someone else now."

Fred looks like he bitterly regrets saying that the moment the words escape his lips. I look at him in confusion, my brow furrowed.

"Really? Who?" I ask, very curious.

Fred looks up quickly. For a split second he looks like he's going to say something he's had on his mind for a while, but then he says, with his usual reckless grin back on his face. "No one in particular, really. Just not him."

I want to ask him what he really wants to say, but decide against it. I plaster the same smile I had on seconds ago, and say, "Well, I'm glad you're finally coming to your senses!"

After talking for a few more hours, which pass by in the blink of an eye, I let out a yawn, and announce that I'm going to go to sleep.

"Goodnight, Freddie," I say, smiling, as he stands back up to leave, stretching.

"G'night, Knight," he says, and for a split second he looks like he wants to say something else, but just waves and leaves.

I sink back into the bed, rubbing my eyes. What did he want to say? Why won't he just tell me? What could be so hard to say that he couldn't tell me? We're best friends! Ginny and Hermione walk in at that moment, and I sit back up, and give them a slight smile.

"'Lo," I say.

"Hey, Hazel," they chorus.

"You know, we just saw Fred outside," Ginny comments, smirking, as they start to get changed into pyjamas.

"And what's so interesting about that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Well, he just came out of here," Hermione explains. "And he was blushing... Fred  _never_ blushes... what exactly went on in here?"

"Oh, shut up," I say, rolling my eyes, smiling slightly. "We just talked."

"About?" Ginny asks.

"I dunno, random stuff. The usual," I shrug. "Quidditch, school, we teased each other. Nothing out of the ordinary, really." My brow furrows slightly, and I'm debating on whether I should tell them about how Fred acted like he was hiding something from me. "Well, except for..." my voice falters slightly.

"Except for what?" Hermione asks immediately.

"Except for the fact that he acted like he was hiding something from me... he looked like he wanted to tell me for a second, but he just made something up last minute..." I reply, "and I  _really_ want to know what he's hiding..."

"He's probably hiding the fact that he's madly in love with you," Ginny says casually, shrugging.

"Oh, shut up," I repeat, a bit of a blush spreading on my face.

"Come on, what else could it be?" Hermione insists.

"I dunno... could be anything, couldn't it? It's Fred Weasley we're talking about, here... for all we know, he could've dropped my toothbrush in the toilet and doesn't want to tell me, in case I get mad," I shrug.

They both let out a laugh, shaking their heads, and Hermione adds, "You are so blind."

"The blind girl is going to sleep," I announce, grinning. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," they say, and I sink back into bed, and close my eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep, still wondering what Fred could possibly be hiding from me.

 

_***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*** _

 

Fred closed the door to Ginny's room, and let out a sigh. Then, he had to resist the urge to smack himself. Why did he act so stupid? What if Hazel suspected that he liked her now, because he went and said that he thought she'd be better off with someone else? Would she figure out that by "someone else", he meant himself?

Fred heard footsteps, and looked up from the ground, and saw Hermione and Ginny. He put on his usual outgoing tone.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted cheerfully, grinning.

"What're you doing here?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the door, after they returned his greeting.

"Is that where you've been the past couple hours?" Ginny adds.

"Yes," Fred replied, as casually as he could. "Just thought Hazel could use a bit of company, is all, being cooped up in her room all by herself for so long."

"And you two just talked, did you?" Ginny asks, raising an eyebrow, smirking.

"Yes," Fred said, almost defensively. He felt a slight blush creeping onto his face. This was humiliating. Fred  _never_ blushed.

"That blush is extremely convincing," Ginny says, laughing.

"Shut up," he says, looking down at his feet, before looking back up at her. "We're just friends, I told you that back at the Cup."

Ginny explained to a very confused looking Hermione the conversation that went down about Hazel, between Fred, George, Ginny, and Ron. Hermione smirked a little.

"Yet you still expect us to believe you only think of her as your friend?" she said, raisign an eyebrow.

"Yes, because that's all we are!" Fred insisted. "I was just lost in thought, thinking about the match!"

"Right," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You're almost as blind as Hazel."

"What?" Fred said quickly. "What did Hazel say?"

"Why do you care so much?" Ginny retorted, raising an eyebrow again.

"Because I care what my best friend says about me!" Fred said, blushing more. Before any of them could say anything else, he said. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," they called after him, sounding very amused.

He entered the messy room he shared with George, and slammed the door a lot louder than he had meant.

"Woah, what's wrong, Fred?" George asked, sitting up in bed.

"Nothing," Fred snapped, and George raised an eyebrow. This made Fred remember what he promised himself back at the Cup. hat he'd tell George about his crush on Hazel. "Never mind that, it is something."

"No way!" George exclaimed, pretending to be shocked.

"Look, I'm going to tell you something that you're not going to believe. You're probably going to think I'm pulling your leg, but I'm not, all right?" Fred said, sitting down at the foot of his bed, and looking over at George.

"All right," George said, frowning at how serious his twin was acting.

"All right..." Fred took a deep breath. "You know Hazel?"

"Well, as she's been one of my best friends for the past three years, yeah, I do know her."

Fred let out a little laugh, before continuing. "Well, you're going to think this is hilarious, since we pretended to date last year, but - I fancy her."

There was complete silence in the room. George was looking at Fred, with his head tilted slightly. Then he burst out laughing. Fred watched him, not feeling very surprised by this reaction at all.

"You really had me there, Fred! Making me thinkk you were being serious, then telling me that you fancy Hazel! Good one, Fred, you really got me good," George said, still laughing, settling back down into bed.

"Georgie, I'm being serious," Fred insisted.

George sat back up again, and looked very closely at Fred. When he realized that his twin was, in fact, being serious, he stared at him, looking half stunned, half horrified.

"You? And - and Hazel?" he said, looking disbelieving. "But - but Fred - she's Hazel! She's like our little sister! When I said you liked her back at the Cup, I was only joking! you can't - but that's just - how - you pretended to be madly in love with her for most of last year! - and now you-"

"Don't remind me," Fred says, somewhat miserable, burying his face into his hands. "So many girls out there... so many... why it had to be her, I don't know..."

"How long have you liked her for?" George asked.

"I think I've liked her for a while, honestly," Fred answered, shrugging. "But I finally figured it out around two weeks ago, I guess."

"Why didn't you tell me?" George said, looking rather upset.

"I really don't know," Fred answered honestly. "I wanted to, but I just, couldn't. I dunno why... I was just - afraid of admitting it, I guess..."

"Why?" George asked.

"I - I dunno... this kind of stuff does that to you, I suppose..." he ran a hand through his hair, forcing out a little laugh.

"Well, I suppose, now that I think about it, that explains a lot," George pointed out.

"Like what?"

"how you two acted last year," George replied, shrugging. "The end of last year, I mean. you guys nearly kissed, like, a million times."

"Oh. Oh - yeah," Fred said vaguely, looking back down at his feet, the blush reappearing on his face.

"Freddie, are you blushing?" George said incredulously. "Wow, you really  _do_ fancy her. I don't even remember the last time you've blushed."

"Neither do I," Fred laughed a little.

"Well, I'm completely approving of this relationship, and I reckon you two will be together sooner or later," George said matter-of-factly. "Just do me two favours; one, don't talk about her in  _that_ way around me," he said, indicating in a romantic way, with a slight look of disgust on his face, before continuing. Fred laughed a little, "and two, once you're together and everything, please, don't show any public displays of affection."

"No promises there," Fred winked, laughing. "Goodnight, Georgie."

"Eurgh, God..." George said, pretending to cringe. "Goodnight, Freddie."

They both sunk into bed, and quickly fell asleep.


	14. Sick Day

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Fourteen: Sick Day**

 

A week later from that night, though, I find myself back in bed for the entire day; this time, with a really bad cold. I suppose it's because Fred, George, and I went out and spun around in the rain like little kids, and then they threw me into the pond. I guess it makes sense why I'm sick... all the same, it really sucks being stuck in bed all day for the second time this summer.

Just as I finish sneezing about a million times, I hear tapping outside the window. I look around and see Midnight there, tapping on the window, a letter tied to his leg. He has Remus' letter! I leap out of bed, and hurry to open the window. Midnight flies through, drops the letter on my bed, flies over to his cage, and taps on it, indicating for me to let him in. I open the cage for him, and he flies inside, resting, his head under his wing.

I hurry back to bed, and open Remus' letter.

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_I'm sure the Quidditch Cup was amazing - well, the actual match, at least. I never liked Quidditch as much as your father did, nor was I ever nearly as good at it, but I know that it's very interesting to watch, especially when you're watching professionals play. But there are more important matters at hand. The Dark Mark was seen at the Cup, and there was a riot. I'm assuming by now you know what it is, and why it's so terrifying. There were no deaths, so I've heard, but I'm still worried about you. Are you all right? No injuries or anything? Were you attacked? Rita Skeeter wrote that article, who knows what really happened._

_I'm doing well enough. My Lycanthropy isn't going very well, without the potion, obviously, but I'm used to the pain. I also haven't managed to get another job, as an anti-werewolf legislation has been recently passed, which makes it very difficult for me to get a job. Of course, it's always been difficult for me, but now it'll be nearly impossible..._

_Hoping you're okay,_

_Remus._

_By the way, I'm only worried about you. I don't want your heart to be broken by anyone. So tell him he'll be dealing with me, if he ever hurts you._

 

I laugh a little at the last bit, but I'm filled with mostly worry about Remus.  _Anti-werewolf legislation_... that angers me to no end. How can a person be so terrible, and prejudiced? Now Remus is going to be without a job, and he's already poor... sighing a bit, I get a piece of parchment, and covering my mouth quickly so I don't sneeze on it, grab a quill, and begin writing my reply.

 

_Dear Remus,_

_The match was bloody brilliant! And, don't worry, I'm not hurt, nor was I attacked. Mr. Weasley told us - Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny - to go into the woods until everything was sorted out. I tripped over a tree root and sprained my ankle, but, obviously that's not very big. Anyway, just so you know, after the Dark Mark was conjured, we - Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I - we lost the others in the dark, but they're fine. Everyone's fine, that much is true - were near the person who conjured it, and a bunch of Ministry wizards started attacking us, until they realized we couldn't possible be the ones who conjured the Dark Mark. We found Mr. Crouch's house-elf with Harry's wand - he dropped it earlier, I suppose - and the last spell it performed was the spell that conjures the Dark Mark. Since it obviously couldn't have been the house-elf, nobody knows who conjured it. Mr. Crouch still sacked his elf, though, I can't believe it! She didn't do anything! Anyway, I'd quote like to know who they are, and whether or not they're supporting the Death Eaters, or trying to scare them off..._

_An anti-werewolf legislation? How could that have been passed! That's vile, and cruel, and prejudiced! How could the Ministry pass something like that? It's outrageous, the way some people are, just because someone isn't a pure-blood wizard._

_Sincerely_ _,_

_Hazel._

_P.S. I'll be sure to tell him that... you know, in a few days, or weeks - or never. Thanks for looking out for me, though, I appreciate it._

 

I read it over, and, deciding that I'm satisfied with it, roll it up. I look over at midnight, fast asleep in his cage, and decide to let him rest. I keep the letter on top of my trunk, and crawl into bed to get some more rest.

My dinner is chicken soup and a crumpet, which I'm quite all right with, since I don't have much of an appetite at the moment. It's hard enough, trying to drink my soup, because I'm always inched away from sneezing while I have some in my mouth. It's quite disgusting, I'll tell you that. All I really want to do is sleep, honestly. I feel so groggy all the time, as if I just woke up from a nap.

I sleep for another few hours, until I can feel someone gently shaking me awake. For a split second, I think I'm back at Hogwarts, and it's Hermione waking me up as usual, until I remember that term hasn't started yet. I open my eyes, and see Fred in front of me, looking tentative, and holding a goblet in his hands.

"Hey, Hazey," he greets, sitting down at the foot of my bed, just as he had done a week ago. "It's time to take your potion."

"All right," I say, holding out my hand to take the goblet. He hands it to me, and his hand touches mine. Our eyes lock for just a moment too long, and I pull away so quickly that I almost spill the potion. I let out a nervous laugh, and take a long swig, so that I'm spared the hassle of trying to change the subject.

"Sorry again for getting you sick, Hazey," he says after a moment of silence. "We didn't think you'd get sick from it, we were just messing around."

"I know," I say. "Fred, you and George must have apologized a million times. I've told you, it's fine. It's not like I'm deathly ill or anything, right?"

But at that moment, I let out a very loud sneeze, which I imagine doesn't help his guilt.

"Look, Fred, I told you, I'm fine. You heard Mrs. Weasley, I'll be right as rain tomorrow," I insist bracingly.

"Right," Fred mumbled.

"Besides, it  _was_ funny at the time," I point out, laughing a little.

"Just a little," Fred admits, laughing along with me.

"Remember when you guys threw me into the Black Lake, and I made you think I couldn't swim, and that you drowned me?" I say, letting out a loud laugh that sounds kind of like a deranged cough, from my cold. God, I hate being sick.

"Yes!" Fred says, laughing. "You scared us to death, you did! We thought we killed you!"

"I know! It was brilliant! I'm such a genius sometimes..." I say in mock-arrogance, cackling like an evil person.

"Don't get too cocky, now, Knight," Fred says, pretending to scold me. "That's amateur stuff."

"You weren't saying that when you were stuttering apologies like a madman," I retort, grinning.

"That was only so you wouldn't go and accuse us of drowning you," Fred says, winking. "Stuff like that can get you expelled, you know."

"Stuff like that can get you thrown into Azkaban," I correct him matter-of-factly.

"You weren't considering to get us thrown into Azkaban, were you, Hazey?" he asks, pretending to be offended.

"I considered it," I tease.

"And here I was, thinking we were friends," Fred says dramatically.

"Clearly, you thought wrong," I joke, taking another sip of my potion.

Laughing, Fred kind of half glances around the room, and notices the letter on my trunk.

"What's that?" he asks, taking the letter.

"Oh, it's my letter to Remus," I shrug, then I remember the 'P.S.'. Not wanting him to read it, I quickly add, "which I really need to send to him right now. I was just letting him rest for a bit."

I stand up, stretching, and look over at Midnight's cage. Wide awake, as expected. I open the cage, and he flies through, landing on my trunk, his leg out, ready to take my letter.

"Fred, open the window, would you?" I say, as I tie the letter carefully to Midnight's leg.

"Say 'please'," Fred replies cheekily.

"Freddie, please open the window, before I make you sick," I say, laughing.

"Good enough for me," Fred says, and, judging by the slight breeze I can feel behind me, he opened the window.

"All right, to Remus," I tell Midnight matter-of-factly.

Midnight lets out a soft hoot, indicating he understands. He nips my finger affectionately for a moment, before flying out the open window. It doesn't take too long for me to lose sight of him; his feathers are as dark as the night sky. Fred goes to close the window again, and I crawl back into bed.

"Tell who what, by the way?" Fred asks, as I settle back in.

"What?" I ask, tilting my head slightly from confusion.

"In your 'P.S.', you say something like 'I'll be sure to tell him that in a few days, or weeks, or never.' Tell who, what?" Fred elaborates.

"Oh. Uhm - it's - uh - it's nobody!" I say quickly. I can feel myself blushing. I look down at the sheets in embarrassment.

"Hazel," Fred says slowly, and I look up slightly.

"Yeah," I mumble, looking down again, not wanting to meet his eyes.

"Do you... like anyone?" he asks.

"Like anyone?" I look back up at him, and try to make everything into a big joke. "Sure! I like loads of people! You, George, Hermione, Harry, Ron, Remus, Ginny-"

Fred laughs a little, but says, "You know what I mean. Like, fancy someone."

"No!" I deny quickly, trying to force a laugh. "Why would you say something like that?"

"I dunno," Fred mumbles, not looking convinced by my answer. "You seemed embarrassed, so I was just wondering..."

"Well, I don't fancy anyone at the moment," I lie in a matter-of-fact voice, draining the rest of my potion.

"All right," Fred says.

We continue talking, but things are much more awkward, and when he says that he just remember that he needs to tell George something, his goodbye is much more awkward than usual.

I lie back in bed when I hear the door close, letting out a loud sigh. What if he suspects that I like him now? He obviously saw right through my lie... why did he have to see that letter, why?

 _Don't panic,_ I warn myself sternly.  _Don't panic. He might suspect you like someone, but that doesn't necessarily mean him, right? It could be anyone! Don't panic, just act like nothing happened..._

I roll over in bed, and bury my face in my pillow. Ugh. Why do things have to be so difficult? I'm sick of having to do this, and hide how I feel about him. What if I just  _told_ him? What's the worst thing that can happen, really?

" _Nothing big, really. Just that he wouldn't feel the same way, and your friendship will be ruined,_ " much more sensible part of me says sarcastically.

 _Well, I mean... what if he does like me back..._ that small voice that's been helping me with my love life since the last year points out.

 _No_ , I think to myself firmly, snapping out of past craziness.  _I'm not getting my hopes up._

And, after letting out a series of sneezed, turn back over onto my side, and close my eyes, slowly drifting to sleep.


	15. Confused

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Fifteen: Confused**

 

The day before term starts, the Weasleys, Hermione, Harry, and I are all in the living room, doing our own little things: Harry and I are talking animatedly about Quidditch, while Harry polished his Firebolt with the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had got him for his thirteenth birthday; Ron and Bill are playing a game of chess; Hermione's reading through  _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four,_ which Mrs. Weasley had gotten her, Harry, Ron, and I from Diagon Alley; Mrs. Weasley is knitting something; Ginny's mending her copy of  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ with Spellotape on the rug in front of the fire; Charlie's fixing up a fire-proof balaclava, and Fred and George are huddled in a corner, holding a sheet of parchment and a quill, frowning slightly. I wonder what they're doing...

Mrs. Weasley glances at the grandfather clock in the corner. I quite like this clock. Of course, it's completely useless if you'd lie to know the time, but otherwise, its rather informative. There are nine hands, and each of them have the Weasley family name's engraved on it. Where the numbers should be, there are descriptions of where they might be at the time, like "school", "home", "hospital", "prison", and where the number twelve should be, it says "mortal peril". Very pleasant, I know. Currently, eight hands rest on the "home" spot, but Mr. Weasley's hand rests on the "work" spot. Mrs. Weasley lets out a little sigh.

Mr. Weasley hasn't been seen around much since the riot at the Quidditch Cup. Percy hasn't been around much, either. Both of them leave the house before any of the rest of us get up, and get back way after dinner.

"Your father hasn't had to go into the office during weekends since the days of you-Know-Who," she says. "They're working him far too hard. His dinner's going to be cold is he doesn't come home soon."

"Well, Father feels like he's got to make up for his mistake at the match, doesn't he?" Percy points out. True, but he really didn't make any mistake. Not to me, at least... "If truth be told, he was a tad unwise to make a public statement without clearing it to his Head of Department first-"

"Don't you dare blame your father for what that retched Skeeter woman wrote!" Mrs. Weasley exclaims, flaring up immediately.

"If Dad hadn't said anything, old Rita would've said it was disgraceful that nobody from the Ministry had commented," Bill adds, looking up from the chess board. "Rita Skeeter never makes anyone look good. Except for herself. Remember, she interview the people from Gringotts and she called me a 'long-haired pillock'?"

"Well, it  _is_ a bit long, dear," Mrs. Weasley admits gently. "If you'd just let me-"

" _No_ , mum," Bill refuses firmly.

Rain lashes against the living room window. Harry kind of looks like he wants to tell me something, but wondering if now was really the time.

"Something wrong, Harry?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"How'd you know?" he says, shocked.

"I dunno, you just looked nervous," I shrug. "So, what's up?"

Harry's about to answer, when Mrs. Weasley's voice rings sharply through the room.

"And what are you two doing?"

She's looking at Fred and George suspiciously.

"Homework," Fred replies vaguely, and I have to try not to laugh. If he thinks  _that's_ convincing, he's got a lot to learn.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're still on holiday," Mrs. Weasley says.

"Yeah, we've left it a bit late," George shrugs.

"You're not by any chance writing out a new  _order form,_ are you?" Mrs. Weasley inquires shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting  _Weasleys Wizards Wheezes,_ by any chance?"

"Now, mum," Fred says, looking up at her with a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel knowing that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"

Even Mrs. Weasley laughs with the rest of us. When the laughter subsides, I turn to Harry and ask what's wrong again.

"It's nothing, really," Harry sighs, closing his Broomstick Servicing Kit. "I just wrote a letter to Sirius a while ago. And I'm just worried..."

"What was the letter about?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I have the funny feeling that that's not all that's on his mind.

"The other day, I had a dream," Harry replies. "Well, more of a nightmare. I was in a house. And Wormtail was there-" at the mention of Wormtail, a rush of hatred surged through me "-and so was Voldemort. Except, he wasn't human - Voldemort, I mean, obviously."

"What did he look like?" I interject softly.

"That's the thing," Harry says, pressing his face into his hands for a moment. "I can't remember. I've tried, believe me, but I just can't remember. It's like when you have a really good dream, but you can't remember it at all when you wake up. 'Cept this time it's a nightmare, and I can remember bits of it... anyway, there was this man - I don't know who he is, but I'm pretty sure he was a Muggle - and he was spying on Voldemort and Wormtail. They were talking about a plan... they were plotting to kill - someone."

"Who did they want to kill?" I ask, terrified.

"I - I can't remember," Harry replies. "Anyway, when I woke up, my scar hurt again."

My eyes widen, and my terror multiplies by about ten. "W - what? But your scar only hurts when Voldemort is close by. And he  _definitely_ wasn't in Privet Drive. So, why would your scar hurt?"

"Well, I  _was_ dreaming about him..." Harry points out.

"Yeah, but - but it was just a dream," I say, faltering slightly.

"But was it? I mean, it's weird. I have a dream about Voldemort, and my scar hurts, and three days later, Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign is in the sky again... and remember what Professor Trelawney said?" Harry continues, when I open my mouth to speak. "At the end of last year?"

"Oh, please, Harry, you're mad if you actually believe the rubbish that woman comes out with," I snort.

"You weren't there," Harry insists. "You didn't hear her. I told you, this time she went into a trance - a real one. And she said the Dark Lord would rise again -  _greater and more terrible than ever before..._ and he'd manage it because his servant was going to go back to him... and that night Wormtail escaped."

There's silence for a moment, and I study a bit of my hair as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Then I look back up at Harry, and sigh a little.

"I - I dunno," I mumble. "Trelawney isn't exactly known for being a greet Seer... but judging on what you said, that was a real prophecy..." I pause for a moment, then add, trying to stay positive. "Who knows, though, maybe curse scare hurt every now and then for no  _real_ reason... it was a good idea to write to Sirius about it, though."

Before any of us can say anything else, Mrs. Weasley speaks up again.

"Oh, you're father's coming!" she exclaims happily, looking at the clock.

Mr. Weasley's hand on the clock suddenly goes from 'work' to 'travelling'; a second later, it stops at 'home', and we can hear him calling from the kitchen.

"Coming, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley calls.

A moment later, Mr. Weasley comes into the warm living room, carrying his dinner on a tray. He looks extremely exhausted.

"Well, the fat's really in the fire now," he sighs to Mrs. Weasley, sinking into an armchair by the fire and playing with his somewhat shrivelled cauliflower unenthusiastically. "Rita Skeeter's been ferreting about all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she's found out about poor old Bertha going missing, so that'll be the headline of the  _Prophet_ tomorrow. I  _told_ Bagman he should've sent someone to look for her  _ages_ ago."

"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for weeks and weeks," Percy points out swiftly, and I roll my eyes. It's like this idiot cares more about his boss, than his family!

"Crouch is very lucky that Rita hasn't found out about Winky," Mr. Weasley says irritably. "There'd be a week's worth of headlines about his house-elf getting caught holding that wand that conjured the Dark Mark."

"I thought we all agreed that the elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Dark Mark!" Percy argues hotly.

"If you ask me, Mr. Crouch is very lucky nobody at the _Daily Prophet_ knows hoe he treats house-elves!" Hermione pipes up angrily. I don't think so; it doesn't seem like many people care about the proper treatment of house-elves...

"Now, look here, Hermione," Percy says firmly. "A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr. Crouch deserves unwavering obedience from his servants-"

"His  _slaves,_ you mean!" Hermione interrupts, her voice rising shrilly. "Because he didn't  _pay_ Winky, did he?"

"I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly," Mrs. Weasley says, breaking up the argument. "Come on, now, all of you..."

Harry grabs his Firebolt and Broomstick Servicing Kit, and heads up with Ron, whilst Ginny and I head upstairs with Hermione, who raves about how terribly house-elves are treated the whole way upstairs. By the time I have my trunk open, and I'm looking to see if I have all my books, I'm extremely fed up with Hermione's ranting.

"- I mean, would  _they_ like it if  _they_ were being treated like they were-?"

"Look, Hermione, I agree that how house-elves are being treated isn't fair, but exactly what's the point about ranting about it to  _us_?" I ask wearily. I regret saying that the moment the words escape my mouth.

When sparks shoot out of Hermione's eyes, Ginny adds hastily, looking up from her trunk, "What Hazel's  _trying_ to say is that we totally agree with you, but you're just kind of taking out all your anger on us, as if it's  _us_ who're treating house-elves terribly."

I nod earnestly, feeling extremely appreciative of Ginny. Hermione sighs slightly, her anger subsiding.

"I'm sorry, it's just not fair!" Hermione mumbles.

"I know, Mione," I say sympathetically, now making sure all my underwear was there.

I find something in my trunk, that I definitely didn't have before. It's a light blue dress, that probably reaches just a bit past my knees. The first bit goes down to around my chest, after that, is a large silky thing that acts kind of like a belt, and the skirt is very loose, with alternating light blue and white ruffles. It's beautiful...

"What's this?" I ask, confused.

"It's a dress, stupid," Ginny teases, and Hermione and I laugh.

"She got me one, too," Hermione says, holding up a long, beautiful periwinkle blue dress, that's made out of a floaty kind of material.

"Me three," Ginny adds, holding up an emerald dress that would reach a bit past her knees, that was kind of skinny until the waist, then was very loose.

"Those are gorgeous," I say, admiring the two dressed. "I wonder why we'd need them, though..."

"Need what, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks, hurrying into the room and handing each of us some freshly laundered robes.

"These dresses," I reply, holding them up. "What're they for?"

"Oh, it just said on your list that you'll be needing them," Mrs. Weasley shrugs slightly. "I do hope you all like them."

"They're beautiful, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione assures her, smiling kindly, as she packs the robes neatly into her trunk.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Weasley says appreciatively. "Lights out soon, lots to do tomorrow."

And she bustles out of the room. I throw the robes into my trunk haphazardly, but fold the dress gently, and put it carefully into my trunk. I don't know why, but I want to make sure that it's extremely neat. I close my trunk, then remember that I left  _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_ downstairs.

"I'll be right back," I announce, then hurry downstairs to the living room.

I notice someone else hurrying down the stairs as well, and after a minute, recognize it to be George.

"Oh, hello, Georgie!" I greet cheerfully.

"Hey, Hazel," he says, waving.

"Hey, what were you doing before, anyway?" I ask George, as we walk down together.

"Nothing you need to worry about, dear Hazel," George replies mysteriously, and I raise an eyebrow.

"Just because you said that, I need to know," I say.

"Oh, well, that sucks for you, doesn't it?" he says, grinning.

"Rude," I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs.

We walk into the living room, and I find my book on the sofa. I hurry over, and pick it up, and see George pick up a quill he'd dropped.

"So, Hazel - you don't like anyone, do you?" he asks, so suddenly that I was caught off guard for a second.

"Y - wha - no!" I say, frowning, and praying he didn't notice that I almost said 'yes'. "Why d'you ask? Not interested, are you, Weasley?" I add, trying to make this into a joke.

"Eugh, you wish, Knight," George says.

"You wish, I wish," I retort, grinning. "Why, then?"

"No reason," George says, avoiding my eyes.

"Fred filled you in about the other day and put you up to this, didn't he?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," George says, looking surprised. "How'd you know?"

"Had a hunch," I answer, shrugging.

"So you know everything, then?" George asks.

"Well, it's not much, really. Kind of obvious, to tell you the truth. Fred thought I fancied someone, and thought I was lying when I told him I didn't, so he put you up to it, and you made sure to ask me when I wasn't expecting it, so that I could tell the truth because I was caught off guard," I reply, shrugging.

"Wha - oh, oh - right," George says. "Brilliant, Knight."

"I'm the next Sherlock," I joke, and when he looks confused, I add, shaking my head. "Muggle thing..."

"Oh," he mumbles, and we head back upstairs together.

"G'night, Georgie," I say, waving, when I arrive at the door to Ginny's room.

"Night, Knight," he waves, and I open the door and walk inside.

 

_***Third Person, but George's Eyes*** _

 

"Well?" Fred asked impatiently, the moment George had entered the room.

"Nothing," George informed him, opening his trunk, and throwing the quill into it.

"She wasn't telling the truth," Fred sighed, flopping onto his bed. "She likes someone, I know it."

George studied his twin for a moment.  _Wow,_ he thought.  _Fred really does like Hazel... It's driving him crazy, wondering whether or not she likes anyone._ A part of him resented Hazel for stressing Fred out like this, even though he knew that it wasn't Hazel's fault or anything.

"I dunno, Freddie, it looked like she was telling the truth when I talked to her..." George said, not looking at his twin, not wanting to annoy or anger him.

"You didn't see her before," Fred insisted, putting his arms under his head. "She was nervous when I asked her..."

"Maybe that's it," George suggested, shrugging, and changing into his pyjamas.

"Maybe what's it?" he asked, confused.

"Maybe she was nervous, because it was you who asked her," George elaborated.

"Why would she be nervous about me, and not you?"

"Because she fancies you," George suggested.

There was silence for a moment.

"No," Fred finally replied. "I don't think she does... I think she just doesn't want to tell us whoever it is she likes, because she thinks we'll take the mickey out of her."

"Well, we would," George pointed out.

"That's not the point," Fred said impatiently. "The point, is that I've got to find out who she fancies..."

"Okay, say Hazel actually does fancy someone," George said, who was convinced that Hazel didn't like anyone, "and for some reason she tells us-"

"She doesn't  _have_ to tell us... there are other ways," Fred pointed out, who was clearly thinking of these 'other ways' of finding out. "If she won't do this the easy way, I'll find out the hard way..."

"Right, okay, so let's say she does fancy someone, and she does tell us who it is, or we find out for one reason or another," George began again, with a stab of impatience. "What exactly do you want to do after that? You're not going to hurt him or something, are you?"

"No, of course not," Fred replied, as though this should be obvious, "this bloke - whoever it is - makes Hazel happy, and I'm not going to hurt him for it. I - I just want to know who it is, so I'll know who to destroy if they ever hurt her."

George just nodded, though he wasn't sure Fred could see him. There was a sort of heavy silence, before Fred spoke again.

"I just don't get why she won't tell us," he said, sounding frustrated. "I mean, when I used to like that Ravenclaw - Dawn, I think her name was - I didn't mind telling Hazel about it. And I didn't even actually like her!"

"I dunno, maybe it's just harder for girls to talk about," George shrugged. "More embarrassing and stuff, I guess..."

"But why has it got to be so embarrassing? I mean, we're friends, aren't we? It's not like I'm going to go telling everyone... Ugh, why do girls have to be so confusing?"

"I dunno, girls are weird, mate," George said, shrugging, which was perfectly true; girls confused him most of the time.

"And I thought Hazel was simple, compared to most girls," Fred sighed.

"She is," George pointed, "but she's still a girl. And all girls, no matter how simple, have to be unnecessarily confusing as fuck."

"True," Fred agreed, laughing. "I just want to know so badly. This is going to drive me insane, isn't it, Georgie?"

"I'm afraid it will, Freddie," George said grimly.

"Brilliant. This'll be fun," Fred said sarcastically.

"Hey, but you've got other ways of finding out, right?" George pointed out.

"Yeah, I suppose," Fred agreed unenthusiastically.

 _Yup_ , George thought, the slight resentment for Hazel returning.  _Freddie's got it bad. Poor bloke._

At that moment, George remembered the last bit of dialogue that happened between him and Hazel. He might've made it obvious that Fred likes her... He debated whether or not he should tell Fred, then decided Fred deserved to know the truth.

"Fred, there's something I need to tell you," George mumbled.

"What is it?"

"Well, when I was talking to Hazel, I might've made it a bit obvious that you fancy her," George said quickly, as though this would make the news better.

"You, what?" Fred exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. "What did you say?"

"I dunno, she figured out that you put me up to it, so I assumed that she knew, but she didn't, and I may have acted a bit - well - nervous, after that."

Fred ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath, looking very nervous.

"Sorry," George added weakly.

"Whatever, it's fine," Fred said, trying to sound casual. "Well, we'll know if she suspects tomorrow. She'd act differently, wouldn't she?"

George personally thought that Hazel would probably act as normal as possible, but decided not wasn't the time, since he had kind of messed up. So, all he said in reply was, "Mhmm."

George let out a yawn, and said, "I'm going to sleep. Night, Fred."

"G'night, George," Fred replied, somewhat idly.

George had the slight suspicion that Fred wasn't going to sleep soon; George had the suspicion  he was going to spend ages thinking about Hazel. The slight resentment George had for her bubbled again; he felt twice as guilty than angry, but he couldn't help it - Hazel was troubling his twin a lot more than he liked. George sighed slightly, laid back down in bed, and fell asleep quickly.

He wasn't aware of it, of course, but George was right about one thing - Fred had trouble falling asleep, his mind occupied with thoughts of Hazel.


	16. The Hogwarts Express

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Hogwarts Express**

 

There's a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when I wake up the next morning. It's still raining really hard, and as Ginny, Hermione, and I get dressed, there's a sleepy silence in the air. Ginny ends up taking forever in the bathroom, considering that she's just brushing her teeth, so, getting frustrated, I walk up to the door and knock very loudly and hard on the door.

"Ginny, what are you doing in there? Brushing your teeth, or performing oral surgery?" I call through the door.

"I'll be out in a minute!" she yells back, her voice sounding muffled.

"Well, hurry up, or we'll be late!" I say, before walking back to Ginny's room and sitting on my bed, rubbing my eyes blearily.

I look over, and see Hermione triple-checking her trunk. She did this last year, too, though I don't get why - Hermione's super organized and was already ready to go to Hogwarts about four days ago. Deciding to follow suit, I get up, and go through my trunk again, even though I know I have everything.

Halfway through checking my trunk, I can hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, and declaring, "Dibs on going first!", I hurry over and close the door. I do a small triumphant dance, before beginning to brush my teeth, and hair. After I'm done, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. You know, maybe I'm not  _that_ ugly... I tilt my head to the side slightly, focusing on my face. It's odd. Sometimes, I look really pretty, but then other times, I look terrible.

I shake my head, snapping out of it, when I hear someone knocking on the door.

"Hazel, hurry up!" Hermione's somewhat exasperated voice calls.

"Sorry!" I call apologetically, opening the door and hurrying out.

"Look who's talking about taking forever in the bathroom," Ginny says, laughing, as she takes her trunk.

"Oh, please, I didn't take nearly as long as you!" I laugh, taking my own trunk, and taking Midnight's cage under my arm.

Midnight's cage is threatening to fall, and I have to keep stopping to balance it. Fred, only half dressed, comes ambling out of his room, not looking like he was in much of a rush. He sees me struggling, and smirks.

"Need some help?" he asks.

"It'd be nice," I breathe, nodding.

"Say 'please', and I  _might_  help you," Fred smirks, clearly enjoying how much I need help.

"Fred, don't be a prat," I moan, and end up dropping the cage.

"Fine, I'll help you, just because I'm feeling generous," Fred laughs, picking up the cage and taking it downstairs.

"Thanks, Weasley!" I call.

"No problem, Knight," he says back.

Hermione joins us for breakfast about a minute later. Mrs. Weasley sits down and relaxes for half a second, before a voice from the living room sounds, making us all jump. Nobody's in the living room - as far as I'm aware, at least. It sounds vaguely familiar, though... Mrs. Weasley jumps up, and hurries for the living room, and, after exchanging slightly bewildered looks, Ginny, Hermione and I follow.

Mr. Diggory's head is in the fire. Literally. This isn't a joke, or a metaphor, or anything. His head is quite literally  _in_ the fire. Apparently, he can't even feel the flames tickling his face.

"Hello, Molly," Mr. Diggory says quite calmly. "Sorry for the inconvenience, but could I have a word with Arthur? Urgent message."

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Weasley says, and hurries out of the room.

Hermione, Ginny, and I hover awkwardly, not sure whether we can return to our breakfast. As Mrs. Weasley calls Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory seems to take notice of us for the first time, and half-smiles for a second, turning away before we have the chance to return the smile.

Mr. Weasley rushes into the room, his robes on back-to-front. Mrs. Weasley hurries in as well, and begins rummaging through the drawers, saying, "I've got a quill here somewhere!". Mr. Weasley, meanwhile, is bent over the fire, talking hurriedly with Mr. Diggory.

"... Muggle neighbours heard shouts and bangs, so they went and called those what-d'you-call-'ems - please-men. Arthur, you've got to get over there-"

"Here!" Mrs. Weasley says breathlessly, shoving a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a rumpled quill into Mr. Weasley's hand.

"-it's a real stroke of luck I heard about it," Mr. Diggory's head continues, "I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off - if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur-"

"What does Mad-Eye say happened?" Mr. Weasley asks, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes.

Mr. Diggory rolls his eyes, making it clear that he thought whatever this 'Mad-Eye' person said was completely rubbish. "Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says they were creeping towards the house, but they were ambushed by his dustbins."

"What did the dustbins do?" Mr. Weasley asks, scribbling frantically on the parchment.

"Made one hell of a noise, and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell," Mr. Diggory replies. "Apparently one of them was still rocketing about when the please-men showed up-"

Mr. Weasley groans. "And what about the intruder?"

"Arthur, you know Mad-Eye," Mr. Diggory says, rolling his eyes once more. "Someone creeping into his yard at the dead of night? More like there's a shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he's had it - think of his record - we've got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department - what are exploding dustbins worth?"

"Might be a caution," Mr. Weasley replies, still scribbling away madly, his brow furrowed. "Mad-Eye didn't use his wand? He didn't actually attack anyone?"

"I'll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach from his window," Mr. Diggory answers, "but they'll have a job proving it, there weren't any casualties." Then Mr. Diggory's head turned to Mrs. Weasley. "Sorry about this, Molly, bothering you all so early and all... but Arthur's the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye's supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night..."

"Never mind, Amos," Mrs. Weasley shrugs. "Sure you won't have a bit of toast or anything before you go?"

"Oh, go on then."

Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it in fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory's mouth.

"Fanks," Mr. Diggory says in a muffled voice, and with a small pop, vanishes.

Mr. Weasley hurries back into the room, saying hurried goodbyes to us all, wishing us a good term.

"Did someone say Mad-Eye?" Bill asks, walking into the kitchen. "What's he up to now?"

"He says someone tried to break into his house last night," Mrs. Weasley replies.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" George says thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter-"

"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," Mrs. Weasley says sternly.

"Yeah, well, Dad also collects plugs, doesn't he?" Fred mumbles, as Mrs. Weasley leaves the room. "Birds of a feather..."

"Moody was a great wizard in his time," Bill points out.

"He's an old friend of Dumbledore, isn't he?" Charlie says.

"Dumbledore's not what you call  _normal_ , though, is he?" Fred says. "I mean, I know he's a genius and everything..."

"Who is Mad-Eye, anyway?" Harry asks.

"He's retired, used to work at the Ministry," Charlie answers. "I met him once when Dad took me to work with him. He was an Auror - one of the best - a Dark-Wizard catcher," Charlie elaborates, seeing my clueless look. "Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though... the families of the ones he caught, mainly... and I heard he's been getting pretty paranoid in his old age. Don't trust anyone any more. Sees Dark Wizards everywhere."

 

Bill and Charlie decided to come along to King's Cross with us, but Percy, however, apologizing profusely, insists that he really needs to get to work.

"I just can't justify taking more time off at the moment," he says. "Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me."

That's nice. And maybe, after a while, Mr. Crouch will even learn Percy's name.

"Yeah, you know what, Percy? I reckon he'll know your name soon," George says seriously, apparently reading my mind.

Mrs. Weasley managed to use the telephone in the village to get us three taxis.

"Oh, dear, they don't look too happy," she says, when they arrive.

I can't blame them; taxi drivers rarely have to transport owls, and Pigwidgeon is making an awful lot of noise. I suppose it doesn't help matters when a fair few Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks goes of randomly when Fred's trunk springs open, causing one of the drivers to yell in pain and fright as Crookshanks claws up the man's leg.

The journey is very uncomfortable, since we're jammed in the back of our taxi with all our stuff. We're all very relieved to get off at King's Cross station, even though it's raining harder than ever, and we get soaked just by carrying our trunks across the busy road into the station.

We cross the barrier to Platform Nine and Three Quarters with ease, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and I go to find seats, and stow our trunks in a compartment halfway along the train. We hop back off onto the platform to say our goodbyes.

"I might be seeing you sooner than you all think," Charlie grins, as he hugs Ginny.

"Why?" Fred asks keenly.

"You'll see," Charlie replies mysteriously. "Just don't tell Percy I told you that. It's 'classified information until such a time that the Ministry sees fit to release it', after all."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I was at Hogwarts this year," Bill says, putting his hands into his pockets, looking at the train almost wistfully.

" _Why_?" George asks impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," Bill replies, eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come watch a bit of it..."

"A bit of  _what_?" Ron demands.

But at that moment, the whistle for the train blows, and Mrs. Weasley chivvies us towards the door.

"Thanks for having us stay, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione says, as we climb on board, leaning out the window to talk to her.

"Yeah, thanks for everything," I say earnestly, and Harry nods.

"Oh, it was my pleasure, dears," she says. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but... well, I expect you're going to want to stay at Hogwarts this year, what with... one thing and another."

"Mum!" Ron says irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," Mrs. Weasley says, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm glad they've changed the rules-"

"What rules?" Harry, Ron, Fred, and George say together.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you... now, behave, won't you?  _Won't_ you, Fred and George."

The pistons hiss loudly, and the train begins to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts?" Fred yells desperately. "What rules are they changing?"

All Mrs. Weasley does is smile and wave. Before the train rounds the corner, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie Disapparate.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I head back to our compartment. The thick rain splatters on the window, which makes it difficult to see out of. Ron opens his trunk, pulls out him maroon dress robes, and throws them over Pigwidgeon to muffle his hooting.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what was happening at Hogwarts," he says grumpily, plopping down between me and Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what-"

"Shhh!" Hermione whispers suddenly, pressing her fingers to her lips, and pointing to the compartment next to ours. I listen carefully, and can hear a familiar drawling voice through the door.

"... Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riff-raff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts does about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually  _learn_ them, not just the defence rubbish we do..."

Hermione gets up, and closes the door, blocking out the voice of Draco Malfoy.

"So, he thinks Durmstrang would've better suited him, does he?" she says angrily. "I wish he  _had_ gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Hear, hear, Hermione," I say.

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" Harry says.

"Yes, and it's got a terrible reputation," Hermione replies sniffily. "According to  _Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe,_ it puts lots of emphasis in the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," Ron says vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

"Well, no one knows, do they?" Hermione replies, raising an eyebrow.

"Er - why not?" I ask.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," Hermione answers, sounding, as usual, as though she'd swallowed a text book.

"Come off it," Ron says, starting to laugh. "Durmstrang has got to be around the size of Hogwarts, how are you going to hide a great dirty castle?"

"But Hogwarts  _is_  hidden," Hermione says, sounding surprise, "everyone knows that... well, everyone who's read  _Hogwarts: A History,_ anyway."

"So, just you," I say. "Go on then, how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

"It's bewitched," Hermione answers matter-of-factly. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a mouldering old ruin with the sign over the entrance saying 'DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE'."

"So, Durmstrang'll just look like an old ruin to an outside, too?"

"Maybe," Hermione shrugs, "or it might just have Muggle-Repelling Charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have to make it Unplottable-"

"Come again?" Harry says.

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er, if you say so," Harry agrees.

"But I think Durmstrang'll be somewhere far north," Hermione continues thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniform."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," Ron says dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident... shame his mother likes him..."

The rain continues pounding on the windows as the train heads along further north. The sky's so dark, and the windows are so steamy that the lamps are lit by midday. As the day goes on, several of our friends come in, like Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. we start talking very excitedly about Quidditch, Hermione growing tired of this after about half an hour.

After a while, Draco Malfoy walks into the compartment, having heard us through the door, I suppose. Crabbe and Goyle, flanked on either side of Malfoy as usual, must have grown as least a foot during the summer.

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," Harry says coolly.

"Weasley... what is  _that_?" Malfoy asks, pointing at Pigwidgeon's cage.

A sleeve of Ron's dress robes are dangling from it, the mouldy cuff lace very obvious. Ron makes to grab it, but Malfoy's too quick for him; he seizes the sleeve and pulls.

"Look at these!" Malfoy says in ecstasy, holding up Ron's robes for Crabbe and Goyle to see. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of  _wearing_ these, were you? I mean, they were very fashionable in the eighteen hundreds, but..."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" Ron says, the same colour as his dress robes, as he snatches them out of Malfoy's grip, making Malfoy explode with laughter.

"So, going to enter, Weasley? Try to win a bit of glory for the family name? There's money involved as well, you know... might be able to afford some decent robes, if you win... _Are you going to enter_?" Malfoy repeated. "I  suppose  _you_ will, Potter... you never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either tell us what you're talking about, or piss off, Malfoy," I snap.

A gleeful smile that makes me want to punch him in the face crosses Malfoy's pale face. "Don't tell me you don't  _know_?" he says delightedly. "You've got a father and a brother at the Ministry and you don't even  _know_? God, my father told me about it  _ages_ ago... heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated himself with the top people at the Ministry... maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley... yes... they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."

Laughing, Malfoy beckons to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappear out the door. Ron gets up, and slams the compartment door so hard the glass shatters.

"Ron!" Hermione says reproachfully, pulls out her wands, and says, " _Reparo_!" and the glass flies back to the pane, repairing itself perfectly.

"Well... making it look like he knows everything and we don't," Ron snarls. " _Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry..._ Dad could've gotten and promotion any time he liked, he just... likes where he is..."

"Of course he does," Hermione says patiently. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron."

"Him! Get to me?" Ron says, squashing a cauldron cake to a pulp.

Ron's bad mood continues the rest of the journey. He doesn't talk much at all, and is still glowering when the train slows down at last, and finally stops at Hogsmeade station. We grab our stuff, and walk out into the freezing rain, feeling like cold buckets of water are being repeatedly dumped on my head.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry yells, and I turn to smile at the gigantic silhouette that is Hagrid on the far end of the platform.

"All righ', you two?" Hagrid bellows back, waving. "See yeh back at the feat if we don' drown!"

Not a very good way to calm the first years, Hagrid...

"Ooh, I won't fancy crossing the lake in this weather!" Hermione says fervently.

Shivering, we inch along the platform with everyone else. A hundred horseless carriages stand outside, waiting to carry us to Hogwarts. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and I climb gratefully into one of them, and the door shuts with a snap. With a great lurch, the carriage starts rumbling towards the castle, and I settle back into my seat, sighing slightly, a slight smile stretching across my face.


	17. The Triwizard Tournament

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Seventeen: The Triwizard Tournament**

 

The carriage comes to a stop at the stone steps of the castle, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and I jump out, and hurry up the stone steps to the Entrance Hall, looking up only when we're inside.

"Blimey," Ron gasps, shaking his head and sending droplets of water everywhere, "if that keeps up, the lake's going to overflow - I'm soak - ARGH!"

A large, red water balloon falls from the ceiling, right on top of Ron's head. I burst out laughing, as Ron goes to dodge another one, which narrowly misses Hermione, and falls at Harry's feet. People all around us start screaming, and pushing into each other in their effort to get out of the line of fire. All the panic makes me laugh harder, until a balloon lands on my head.

A new wave of cold rushes over me, but I'm not too upset about it, since I'm already cold and shivering, anyway. I look around to see who's firing, and find Peeves, cackling wickedly. Why am I not surprised?

"PEEVES!" Professor McGonagall yells, dashing out of the Great Hall, and slipping on the wet floor. She grabs Hermione around the neck to stop herself from falling. Ouch! Poor Hermione! "Ouch - sorry, Ms. Granger-"

"That's all right, Professor," Hermione gasps, massaging her throat.

"Not doing nothing," Peeves cackles. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeee!"

With that, he aims another water balloon at a group of second years that have just arrived. They scream as the balloon hits them, and, pushing the hair out of their faces, look around, looking shocked and kind of hurt. This makes me resent Peeves a lot more.

"I shall call the Headmaster!" McGonagall threatens. "I'm warning you, Peeves-"

Peeves simply sticks his tongue out at her, throws the rest of the balloons in the air, and zooms up the marble staircase, still cackling insanely.

"Well, move along, then!" McGonagall says sharply to the crowd. "Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I more or less slip and slide across the Entrance Hall through the double doors on the right. I walk very carefully, pushing my sopping hair out of my face, Ron doing the same, but muttering furiously under his breath. The Great hall looks wonderful as usual, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleam by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air.

The four houses are packed with talking students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sits along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It's nice and warm in here. We walk past the other tables, and sit down at the Gryffindor table, near Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost.

"Good evening," he greets, beaming at us.

"Says who?" Harry says in reply, taking off his trainers, and emptying all the water inside it. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I'm starving."

It's only now that I realize how hungry I am. I nod in approval. But I'm also very excited for the Sorting, as this is the first Sorting Ceremony I've ever attended, besides my own. Colin Creevey, who seems to worship Harry, hurries forward, and starts talking about how his brother's in his first year. He hopes that he'll be in Gryffindor. Personally, I just hope Colin's brother isn't as annoying as him.

"Brothers and sisters usually go into the same house, don't they?" Harry asks, turning back to us.

Wow, I've never actually thought about that. Judging by the Weasleys, I suppose so.

"Oh, no, not necessarily," Hermione replies. "Parvati Patil's twin is in Ravenclaw, and they're identical, you'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

Oh, that's true. For a split second, I imagine what it'd be like if Fred and George were sorted into different houses; but, then I realize that it probably wouldn't have made much difference. They'd still be those stupid, trouble-making twins that everyone knows and loves.

"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Hermione asks, looking up at the teachers' table.

I look up and examine the staff table. There're three empty seats; Hagrid's obviously still fighting to get across the lake with the first years, McGonagall's probably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor, and that leaves one more empty seat where the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher should be.

"Who did they get this time," I wonder aloud.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" Hermione suggests, looking anxious.

"They must've found  _someone_ ," I insist. "I mean, they hired Lockhart two years ago even though he's terrible at teaching, didn't they?"

Harry and Ron grin, but Hermione, who'd had a bit of a crush on Lockhart when he came to teach, seems rather offended. I suppose there's still slight affection for him.

I glance up at the ceiling. I've never seen it so stormy before. Black and purple clouds swirl across it, a thunder clap sounds from outside, and a fork of lightning flashes across it. I'm suddenly reminded of the first years and Hagrid, battling against the storm in their efforts to cross the lake.

"I wonder how Hagrid and the first years are holding up," I say, more to myself than anything. "Imagine having to get across in this weather. That's certainly a way to start off your years at Hogwarts - we'll be lucky if none of them end up drowning."

"I wish they'd hurry up," Ron moans. "I could eat a Hippogriff."

Just as the words leave his mouth, the doors of the Great Hall open, and silence falls. McGonagall leads a long line of first years to the top of the Hall. If I thought  _I'm_ wet, it's nothing compared to these first years; it looks more like they swam across the lake than sailed. All of them are shivering from a combination of cold and nerves, as they file along the staff table and come to a halt, facing the rest of the school - all of them except the smallest out of them all, a boy with mousy hair, wrapped in Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. His small face protrudes out of the collar, and he looks painfully excited. When the catches Colin Creevey's eye, he gives him a double thumbs-up, and mouths "I fell in the lake!", looking absolutely excited about it.

McGonagall places a three-legged stool on the ground in front of the first years, with a very old, dirty, patched wizard's hat. The first years stare at it blankly, and I'm vaguely reminded of how I reached when I found out about the Sorting. Except I don't think I was that tiny... A rip opens near the brim of the hat like a mouth, and the hat breaks into song.

 

" _A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lives four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a hope, a wish, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan,_

_To educate young sorcerers,_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of those four founders,_

_Formed their own, for each_

_Did value different virtues,_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest._

_For Ravenclaw the cleverest,_

_Would always be the best._

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were,_

_Most Worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin,_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favourites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_'Twas Gryffindor that found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me,_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug around your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!_ "

 

The Great Hall rings with applause when the Sorting Hat finishes.

"That's not the song it sand when it Sorted us," Harry points out, clapping along with the rest.

"Sings a different one every year," Ron says. "It's got to be a pretty boring life, hasn't it, being a hat? I suppose it spends all year thinking of the next one."

Professor McGonagall starts unrolling a large scroll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the Hat, and sit on the stool. When the Hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table."

With that, the Sorting starts. Whenever someone gets Sorted into Gryffindor, I cheer and clap loudly with the rest. When the first Slytherin is Sorted ("Baddock, Malcolm!"), I wonder vaguely if he knows that Slytherin House turns out more Dark wizards and witches than any other. The Sorting seems to last forever, but that's probably just because of how hungry I am. Indeed, when the Sorting ends, and McGonagall picks up the Hat and stool, and carries it away, I do feel happy to finally be able to eat. Not nearly as happy as Ron, though, who seizes his fork and knife, looking down at his golden plate expectantly, whispering, "About time!". I let out a little giggle.

Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet. He smiles around at his students, his arms open wide in welcome.

"I have only two words to say to you," he tells us, his deep voice echoing around the Great Hall. " _Tuck in_."

"Hear, hear!" Harry, and Ron say loudly in unison, as the dishes fill magically before our eyes.

"Finally," I say happily, loading food onto my plate, and stuffing a mouthful of steak into my mouth.

I notice Nearly Headless Nick watching us mournfully, and I suddenly feel bad for eating so - erm - enthusiastically, in front of him. Of course, it's ridiculous to feel bad, he must be used to not eating any more - he's been dead for around five hundred years - but all the same...

"Aaah, 'at's be'er," Ron says, a mouthful of mashed potato in his mouth.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nick says. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? What 'appened?" Harry asks, through a bunch of steak.

"Peeves, of course," Nick replies, shaking his head, which makes it wobble dangerously. I cringe slightly - I've always found the thought that he was nearly headless to be quite creepy. He pulls his ruff a little higher above his neck. Whether it was because he saw me, or he just wants to look more presentable, I don't know. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feat - well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghosts' council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him a second chance but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

The Bloody Baron, the Slytherin ghost, was the only one in the castle who could truly control Peeves. Not even Dumbledore could get Peeves to  _really_ listen to him.

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," Ron says darkly, clearly still upset about the water balloons. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh, the usual," Nick replies, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits-"

With a clang, Hermione knocks over her goblet, spilling pumpkin juice steadily on the white table cloth, but Hermione pats no attention to that. Oh, no. She's not going to take this very well.

"There are house-elves  _here_?" she asks, horror-struck. "Here at  _Hogwarts_?"

"Certainly," Nick says, looking surprise at her reaction. "The largest number out of any dwelling in Britain, I think. Over a hundred."

"I've never seen one!" Hermione says.

"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" Nick points out. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning... see to the fires and so on... I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the park of a good house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"

Hermione stares at him. "But they do get  _paid_ , don't they? They get  _holidays_ , don't they? And - and sick leave, and pensions and everything?"

Nick chuckles so much that his ruff slips and his head falls off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin that attached it to his neck. I cringe again. I  _really_ hate that he's nearly headless.

"Sick leaves and pensions?" he says, pushing his head back onto his neck, and securing it with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leaves or pensions!"

Hermione looks down at her hardly touched plate of food, then puts her knife and fork on it, and pushes the plate away from her.

"Oh, c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," Ron says, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. "Oops - sorry, 'Arry-" he swallows, before continuing. "You won't get them sick leave by starving yourself!"

"Slave labour," Hermione says, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made this dinner.  _Slave labour_."

And she refuses to eat another bite, no matter what any of us say to her.

Rain continues to pound against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shakes the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashes, illuminating the golden plates as the first course vanishes, replaced by puddings.

"Treacle tart, Hermione!" Ron says, deliberately wafting its scent toward her. "Spotted dick, look, Chocolate gateau!"

Hermione, however, simply gives him a look that reminds us so much of McGonagall that he gives up. I decided to give one more attempt.

"C'mon, Hermione, think of it this way," I say reasonably. "It's like Ron said, starving yourself to death isn't going to get them sick leave and pensions, or get them paid for their work. And if they find out that a student's refusing to eat the food they're making for all of us, they'll think they failed and punish themselves, or something. Dobby used to do things like iron his hands. You don't want the elves to do that to themselves, do you?"

Hermione, folding her arms, glares at me. I look back at her in a very neutral way, shrugging in a way that hopefully says, "Hey, I'm just saying,".

"You knew, didn't you?" she says very suddenly to me, in a very accusing way.

"Knew what?" I ask, slightly taken aback. "That Dobby used to iron his hands? Then, yeah, I've known for a while-"

"Not that," she snaps. "That there're house-elves at Hogwarts."

"What?" I lie, avoiding her gaze. "No, of course I didn't! You heard Nick, they're rarely seen out of the kitchens, and I've never been to the kitchens before!"

"What're you talking about?" Fred says, jumping into the conversation, smirking. Clearly, he'd heard what we were talking about, and was intending on making this situation worse for me. "You've been to the kitchen loads of times! You always go with lee, George and I to get food! And remember that time we played that prank on Malfoy and that Hufflepuff - what was his name again? Edward MacMiller, or something?"

"Fred, shut up!" I hiss, looking down, and I can feel my cheeks turning slightly pink. "And his name was Ernie Macmillan, dummy."

"Same difference," Fred says airily, shrugging. "Point is, you've been to the kitchens  _loads_ of times. And you've met some of the house-elves there, haven't you? Like that one house-elf, Pearlie, she's always so kind to us, isn't she?"

"Shut up," I repeat, sinking into my chair, and avoiding Hermione's gaze; all the same, I can tell she's glaring at me more fiercely than before.

"My work here is done," Fred whispers, just loud enough so that I can hear.

"You fucking prat," I hiss at him.

Laughing, he returns back to his conversation with Lee and George. Carefully, I chance a glance back at Hermione. Just as I expected, she was glaring at me very angrily.

"You were  _saying_?" she hisses, seething.

"I was saying that - uhm - I  _may_ have been to the kitchens a fair few times before?" I say, smiling apologetically. Hermione just scoffs and turns away from me, refusing to talk to me. After that, I don't dare to finish my dessert in front of her.

Fred grins at me when he notices that I'm not eating any more, and I stick my tongue out at him, and mouth "This is  _your_ fault. I was hungry!". Fred just winks at me in reply, before turning away. For a moment, I completely forget about my hunger, or my slight resentment at Fred. He's  _so_ good-looking. His reckless grin, that's sort of cocky in a way. The easy going, reckless impression that he's giving off. His perfectly messy, flaming red hair. His lively brown eyes, darker than his twin's. It takes everything I have to snap out of it, and not to start swooning, or something. Hopefully nobody noticed.

When the puddings have been demolished, and the last crumbs fade away on the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore stands up once more. The buzz of talking in the Great Hall stops at once, so that the only thing we can hear is the howling wind, and the pounding rain.

"So!" Dumbledore begins. "Now that we're all fed and watered-"

"Hmph!" Hermione says.

"Speak for yourself," I grumble.

"-I must ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle this year has been extended to Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list compromises of about four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it. As ever, I would like to remind you that the Forest is out of bounds, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to remind you that inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

" _What_?" Harry and I gasp, looking around at Fred and George, fellow members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who just mouth soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too shocked to speak.

Dumbledore continues, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

At that moment, though, there's a deafening clap of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall bangs open. A man stands in the doorway, leaning on a long staff, in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall turns to look at the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a flash of lightning. He lowers his hood, shaking out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, and begins to walk up to the teachers' table. A dull clunk echoes through the Hall every other step. He reaches the end of the top table, and limps heavily to Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning illuminates his face, and Hermione gasps.

It's unlike any face I've ever seen. It looks like it was carved out of weathered wood by someone who only has a vague idea of what a human face is supposed to look like, and wasn't very skilled with a chisel. Every inch of his skin seems to be scarred. The mouth looks more like a diagonal gash than anything, and a large bit of his nose is missing. but it's the man's eyes that are really frightening. One's small, dark, and beady. The other is large, round as a coin, and electric blue. The blue eye moves around carelessly, without blinking, rolling up and down, side to side, quite independently of the normal eye - and then it rolls right over, pointing at the back of the man's head, so that all we can see is the whites. I shudder slightly.

The man reaches Dumbledore. He holds out a hand that's just as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shakes it, muttering words I can't hear. He seems to be asking the stranger some questions, and the man just shakes his head unsmilingly and replies in an undertone. Finally, Dumbledore nods, and gestures for the man to take a seat. He then takes out a small knife, spears a sausage on the end of it, and begins to eat. His normal eye is fixed on the sausage, but the blue eye is darting around the Great hall restlessly.

"May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore says brightly, into the silence. "Professor Moody."

Usually, a new member of the staff is greeted with a round of applause, but, this time, nobody claps except for Dumbledore and Hagrid. Not even the staff. It registers vaguely in my mind that it's very rude for me to not be clapping, but I'm too transfixed by Moody's insane appearance to do more than stare. At least Moody doesn't seem very affected by this less-than-warm welcome.

"Moody?" Harry mutters to Ron. " _Mad-Eye Moody_? The one your father went to help this morning?"

"Must be," Ron replies, in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispers. "What happened to his  _face_?"

"Dunno," Ron whispers back, watching Moody with fascination.

"Didn't Charlie say he was an Auror, or whatever they're called?" I mutter. "Probably got it while hunting Death Eaters, or whatever."

I look back up at Moody. He ignores the goblet in front of him, and takes a hip-flask from his travelling cloak, taking a really long swig. As he lifts his arm to drink, his cloak lifts a few inches off the ground, and I can see, below the table, several inches of a carved wooden leg, ending with a clawed foot. Poor bloke.

"What d'you reckon he's drinking?" I whisper.

"I dunno, but I don't think it's pumpkin juice," Harry replies.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore says, clearing his throat, and smiling at the sea of students who're still gazing at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" Fred says loudly.

The tension that has been filling the Hall ever since Moody arrived suddenly breaks. Almost everyone laughs, and even Dumbledore chuckles appreciatively.

"I am  _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he says, "though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar-"

McGonagall clears her throat loudly.

"Er - maybe this is not the time... no..." Dumbledore says, and I feel both amused and disappointed. I actually wanted to hear that joke. "Where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament... well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their imaginations to wander freely."

Albus Dumbledore, the only staff member who gives you permission to not pay attention to them.

"The Triwizard Tournament as first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry - Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was chosen to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The school took it in turns to host the tournament every five years, and it was generally agreed to be the best way of establishing ties between young wizards and witches of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

" _Death toll_?" Hermione whispers, horrified. But Hermione seems to be the only one worried about that; many of them are whispering excitedly to one another, and, admittedly, I'm more excited about the tournament than the amount of deaths that happened ages ago. Besides, if they're starting it once more, it must be safer now.

"There have been several attempts to reinstate the tournament, none of which have been very successful," Dumbledore continues. "However, our own Department of International Co-Operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked over the summer to ensure that, this time, no student will find themselves in mortal danger. The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place on Halloween. An impartial judge will decided which students are most worthy for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

"I'm going for it," Fred hisses down the table, his face alight with enthusiasm at rhe idea of such riches and glory, and he's not the only one; everyone's either looking at Dumbledore with rapt attention, or whispering with whoever they're sitting beside.

"Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," Dumbledore continues, making the Hall go silent once more, "the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age - that is to say, seventeen and older - will be allowed to out forward their name for consideration. This-" Dumbledore raises his voice slightly, for several people start making noises of outrage, and Fred and George suddenly look furious- "is a measure we feel is necessary, given the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope wit them. I will personally be making sure that no underage student hoodwinks out impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." His light blue eyes twinkle as they flicker over Fred and George's mutinous faces. "I therefore beg for you not to waste your time by submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. The delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be arriving in October, and remaining with us for the greater part of the year. I know you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to your Hogwarts champion once he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning."

Dumbledore sits down and turns to talk to Moody. There's a great scraping and banging as everyone gets to their feet, and swarms toward the double doors to the Entrance hall.

"They can't do that," George says, who isn't moving towards the Entrance Hall, but on his feet and glaring at Dumbledore. "We're seventeen in April, why don't we get a shot?"

Oh, that's pretty unfair, I suppose.

"They're not stopping me entering," Fred insists stubbornly, scowling at the top table. "The champions'll get to do all sorts of stuff you're not allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," Ron says, in a faraway voice, "a thousand Galleons..."

"Come on," Hermione says, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

We all head for the Entrance Hall, Fred and George debating ways that Dumbledore might make sure nobody under seventeen can enter.

"Who's this impartial judge that's going to pick the champions, anyway?" Harry asks.

"Dunno," Fred says, shrugging, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple drops of Ageing Potion might do it, George..."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Ron point out.

"Yeah, but he's not the one who decides the champions, is he?" Fred counters shrewdly. "Sounds to me like once this judge knows who they want to enter, he'll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are, Dumbledore's trying to stop us giving our names."

"People have died, though!" Hermione says in a worried voice, as we walk through a concealed tapestry and start up another, narrower staircase.

"Yeah," Fred says airily, "but that was years ago, wasn't it? Besides, what's the fun without the risk. Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?"

"What d'you reckon?" Ron asks Harry. "Be cool to enter, wouldn't it? But I s'pose they might want someone older... dunno if we've learned enough."

No, probably not. We're only in fourth year, after all.

"I definitely haven't," Neville's gloomy voice comes from behind Fred and George. "I expect my gran'd want me to try, though, she's always going on about how I should be upholding the family honour. I'll just have to - oops..."

Neville's foot sinks right through a trick step halfway up the staircase. There are many trick steps at Hogwarts, unfortunately, to many students, it's second nature to jump this particular step, but Neville always forgets. Which isn't very surprising. Neville has a terrible memory. I vaguely remember stepping on this trick step a year ago, and Fred helping me up - while we were in a huge fight. We sort of made up after that. I half glance at Fred, and when he glances back, I can tell he's thinking the same thing.

Harry and Ron seize him under the armpits and pull him up, while a suit of armour at the top of the steps creak and clank, laughing wheezily.

"Shut it, you," Ron says, banging down its visor as we pass, and I grin appreciatively at Ron.

We make our way up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, concealed by a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink, silk dress.

"Password?" she prompts, as she notices us approaching.

"Balderdash," George replies, "a Prefect downstairs told me."

The portrait swings open to reveal a hold in the wall, and we all scramble through it. A crackling fire warms the common room, which is full of squishy armchairs and tables. I sigh happily to be back here. Hermione, however, casts a dark look at the merrily dancing flames.

"Slave labour," she mutters, before bidding the boys goodnight.

I shake my head a bit at her. "You'd think something like the Triwizard Tournament would get that off her mind..." I sigh slightly, knowing that I'm going to get an earful from Hermione about house-elves upstairs. "Goodnight, then."

I bound up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, and walk inside the door labelled 'fourth years', and smile around at seeing the familiar four-poster beds with deep crimson hangings. I change into my pyjamas quickly, throwing my robes into my trunk. Hermione's still muttering darkly to herself, but doesn't talk directly to me about the topic. Deciding not to wait until she does, I try to drive the subject out of her mind.

"So, the Triwizard Tournament," I prompt, "who do you reckon is going to be Hogwarts champion?"

"I dunno," Hermione muses thoughtfully, her brow furrowing slightly. "I just hope it's someone from Gryffindor."

"Yeah," I agree, "that'd be brilliant."

At that moment, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown walk into the room. The moment they catch sight of me, they start giggling profusely. I raise an eyebrow; I'm used to their ridiculous behaviour, but still, when someone starts giggling randomly at you, it's confusing. Not to mention _annoying_.

"Uh, can I help you with someone?" I say.

"No, but we should probably help you with your relationship problems," Lavender replies, giggling.

"Is that supposed to clear things up? Because all it's done is confuse me more," I inform them, frowning slightly.

"You... and Fred Weasley," Parvati says, giggling harder than ever.

"What about me... and Fred Weasley?" I ask, mimicking her tone teasingly. Hermione laughs.

"You were totally staring at him during the feast!" Lavender bursts out, as if she was tired of me acting so ignorant. "And, trust me, you could totally see the heart eyes coming from you!"

" _What_?" I exclaim, trying to sound incredulous, and praying I'm not blushing. I curse mentally; of course, someone  _had_ to notice, didn't they? "I was not! I have better things to do with my time than stare at Fred  _Weasley_ with heart eyes."

"A bit hard to believe, since you were practically swooning," Parvati giggles.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I say, trying to convey that I'm tired to talking about this. "Me and Fred are only  _friends_. That's all we've ever been, and that's all we'll ever be.  _Friends_."

Except, that's sort of a lie. Friends don't have many circumstances where they nearly kiss each other, do they?

"We'll believe it when you don't act like you're in love with each other," Parvati replies, and I shake my head at them.

"There's no convincing you two, is there?" I ask dully.

"Nope," they reply, popping the 'p'. I let out a sigh.

"All right, fine, then," I say. "Just don't go around telling people about your theories about how you think we're in love. Especially not to Fred."

"Why, because you'd be embarrassed because you're hopelessly in love with him?" Lavender says quickly.

" _No_ ," I say pointedly, "because he'll think I started it, and that'll ruin our  _friendship_. Did you hear that? That's what we have.  _Friendship_."

"All right," Parvati and Lavender say in unison, not sounding very convinced at all. I let out another exasperated sigh.

" _Were_ you staring at him?" Hermione asks me under her breath, when Parvati and Lavender are too busy gossiping about some other thing.

"Maybe?" I say, smiling nervously, and Hermione grins.

"And to think, last year you were denying the fact that you like him."

"Don't remind me," I groan. "It'll make me think of the times when I didn't like him, and things were simpler,"

Hermione laughs, and says, "Goodnight, Hazel."

"G'night, Mione," I say, crawling into bed.


	18. Coward

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Eighteen: Coward**

 

my eyes flutter open slowly, and I stare up that the deep crimson canvas of my four-poster. It can't be morning yet, can it? I've only been asleep for four hours at the most, really... I open the curtains of my four-poster, and look at the clock. It's three thirty-seven a.m, and of course, everyone except for me is fast asleep.

My stomach grumbles from hunger. I rub it slightly, frowning. Only three hours or so until breakfast... I could fall back asleep and wait. Or I could sneak down to the kitchens. Let's see: I'm extremely hungry, but if I sneak down, I could get into trouble. Then again, getting in trouble wouldn't be a new thing for me, would it? Besides, the most I'd get is a detention or two. Unless Snape catches me...

All the same, after checking to see that everyone truly is asleep - mostly Hermione; she'd kill me, not only for sneaking out, but for going down to the kitchens for some food - I creep out of the girls' dormitories, and hurry out of the Gryffindor common room as quickly as I can.

"You know, you really should stop sneaking out all the time," the Fat Lady tells me, when she sees that it's me walking out. "You've already gotten into a lot of trouble because of it."

I remember in first year, when Neville, Harry, Hermione, and I each lost Gryffindor fifty points for being out of bed after dark. Wasn't nice...

"I'll get into less trouble if you don't rat me out," I point out, smiling pleadingly.

"I'm not going to report you," she assures me. "It's just a word of advice."

"All right," I say, shrugging. "I'll try to stop."

"No, you won't," she sighs.

"You know me too well," I laugh, before checking if anyone's coming. I probably should've kept my voice down a lot more.

I turn and hurry down the corridor, using as many secret passages as I knew. I nearly run into Filch once, but I manage to duck into a secret passage quick enough before he sees me. I also trip while hurrying down the stairs, and curse under my breath - until, that is, I hear someone's brisk footsteps approaching me, and getting up and running randomly into an empty classroom - where I run into Nearly Headless Nick.

"Haze-" he begins, shocked, but when I press a finger to my lips desperately, and press my ear to the door.

The brisk footsteps pass the door, and pause for a second, before walking past. I wait ten seconds, then open the door a crack and peer through. Nobody seems to be there. I close the door carefully, and turn back to Nick.

"Sorry about that," I whisper. "Obviously, I'm not supposed to be out right now, and a teacher nearly caught me there."

"What're you doing out of bed this time?" he asks.

"I was hungry - since, you know, Hermione made me so guilty I couldn't finish my food in front of her - so I decided to sneak down to the kitchens for some food," I reply, shrugging.

"You do realize breakfast is in a matter of three hours or so?" Nick points out.

"Yes," I say, and when he just stares at me, I add, "I'm _really_ hungry."

"Right," Nick says, looking both exasperated and amused.

"Hey, could you do me a favour and look to see if any teachers are nearby?"

"Of course," Nick says, and floats through the wall. He returns about a minute later. "Nobody's nearby, it's all right."

"Thanks! See you around, Nick," I say, waving, and turning to leave.

"I'd prefer if you called me Sir Nicholas, if you don't mind," he informs me, rather stiffly.

"I'll be sure to remember that," I assure him, before opening the door, and leaving very carefully.

I reach the kitchens in about two minutes, meeting nobody else on the way there. I tickle the pear, which starts giggling, revealing a doorknob. I put my hand on the doorknob, before checking one last time if anyone's coming, and entering.

The kitchens, quite unlike the dark corridors just outside, is very bright and full of scurrying little house-elves. I note that there aren't nearly as much as there usually is in here. They're probably out tending to the castle outside of the kitchens, like Nick said they do. I also notice someone else in the kitchen, who definitely isn't a house-elf. A tall boy, with messy ginger hair. His back is facing me, so I can't tell who it is. It's either Fred or George, though.

As soon as the house-elves notice me, they start swarming around me, and Pearlie says, "Mistress Hazel, ma'am, it is such a  pleasure seeing you again! What is you wanting us to do, ma'am?"

The boy turns around, and after looking into his eyes long enough, I deduce that it's Fred. I smile and wave at him, before turning back to the house-elves.

"Hmm, could you get me some pumpkin pasties, and a cup of hot chocolate?" I ask, smiling kindly at them. And, thinking of Hermione, add, "If it's not too much trouble?"

"Of course not!" Pearlie insists, beaming, as one house-elf hurries to get me what I asked for.

"Hey, could you get me some of that, too?" Fred pipes up, grinning.

Another house-elf boys, and hurries to help the first house-elf.

"So, what're you doing here?" Fred asks, walking forward and grinning at me, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Gee, what would a person be in the kitchens for?" I say, pretending to be thoughtful about the subject. "I suppose, they could be here to eat, weirdly enough. Perhaps because since a certain redhead named Fred Weasley got them into shit with their house-elf loving best friend, so that they didn't dare eat in front of said house-elf loving best friend."

Fred laughs. "All right, fair enough."

The two house-elves hurry with a tray of pumpkin pasties, and two cups of hot chocolate. Fred takes it from them, smiling.

"Thank you," I tell them.

"It is being our pleasure, miss!" one of the house-elves insists, and the other house-elf nods so eagerly that his ears flap around.

"Sit, sit!" Pearlie says, gesturing to the table that would be the Gryffindor table, and Fred and I sit on the table.

"Hey, guess what?" I say, before taking a pumpkin pasty and taking a bite.

"Is this going to be good?" Fred asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Not really," I reply. "Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil - you know, those two gossiping, giggling girls in my year? The ones that started that rumour we were dating last year? - are once again under the impression that we're hopelessly in love with each other."

"Did they ever stop thinking that?" Fred asks, grinning slightly.

"Probably not," I reply, now grinning a but myself. "If they start another rumour about us, though, I'm going to murder them."

"Yeah, once was enough for my entire life, the afterlife, and my reincarnated life, if that exists," I correct, laughing, and taking another pasty.

"True," Fred laughs.

We eat in silence for a moment, before I speak again.

"So, are you really going to try and enter the Tournament, even though you're underage?" I ask, a bit warily.

"Yes," Fred replies matter-of-factly. "I'm going to be seventeen in April, I don't see what the big deal is if George and I enter."

"I suppose it is kind of unfair..." I mutter.

"Kind of?" Fred repeats incredulously. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing, and we can't enter because we're a couple months too young?"

"All right, it's really unfair," I say, holding my hands up in surrender. "But still, are you really sure that's a good idea?"

"Yes," he answers, somewhat definitely. "Why?"

"Well," I say, trying to think of a good way to say this, so Fred doesn't get angry with me. "Dumbledore himself is going to make sure that this impartial judge - whoever it is - won't get tricked into picking anyone underage... And, well, Dumbledore's a genius," At this, many of the house-elves nod in agreement. Whether it's because Dumbledore is their master and they have to respect him, or out of genuine respect for Dumbledore, I don't know. "Are you really sure you'll be able to fool him?" I finish.

Fred stares at me for a second. Whether it's out of frustration, or something else, I can't quite tell. "I mean, it's like I said, we're only a couple months too young. All we'll really need to do is drink a few droplets of Ageing Potion, and that'll be that."

"But Dumbledore said-" I begin again, somewhat impatiently.

"Dumbledore isn't the impartial judge. If this impartial judge thinks I'm the most worthy to be champion, they won't care if I'm a few months too young." Fred interrupts, matching my impatience.

I sigh, and shake my head slightly. "All right. All I'm saying is that by what Dumbledore said, it'll take a lot to enter yourself, even if you're just a couple months underage. Definitely something that isn't as basic as an Ageing Potion."

"You'll be saying something different when George and I manage to enter," Fred says confidently. "You'll be praising us. 'Oh, Fred, why didn't I listen to you? You're so brilliant! And funny, and handsome, and smart, and hot, and witty, and sexy-"

"No, I don't think that's what I'll be saying," I interrupt, laughing.

"C'mon, you know that's what you always think about," Fred laughs, eating another pasty, and winking at me.

"You wish," I say, starting up the usual game.

"You wish that I wish," Fred counters, grinning.

"You wish that I wish that you wish," I continue, laughing, as I finish a pasty.

"You wish that I wish that you wish that I wish," Fred says.

"I don't even know what that  _means,_ any more," I laugh.

"Neither do I," Fred agrees, grinning, and picking up a cup of hot chocolate.

I take my own cup of hot chocolate, and Fred holds his up to do a toast.

"To another year at Hogwarts," he announces. "Another year of school work, and homework, and annoying teachers, and-"

"Fred," I interject.

"Yes?" he says.

"Shut up," I say, grinning.

"To shutting up," he says, doing a new toast.

Laughing, I clink glasses - or should I say mugs? - with him, and we each take a large swig of hot chocolate. I end up burning my tongue, and quickly put down my mug, cursing under my breath.

"What happened?" Fred asks, looking vaguely amused.

"I burnt my tongue," I reply, preparing for Fred to burst out laughing.

He does, and I just roll my eyes, and punch him playfully in the arm.

"Hey!" he says, and he stops laughing immediately, pretending to be hurt. "That hurt."

"Good," I reply, sticking my tongue out at him, making him laugh. I love making him laugh...

"What're you looking at?" Fred asks, smirking, and I realize I was staring again. Shit.

"Just wondering how someone could be such an idiot," I joke, trying to recover.

"Hey!" Fred repeats, putting a hand over his heart, acting extremely hurt by this. "That hurt, too!"

"Sucks, doesn't it?" I laugh, and he shoves me lightly, making me laugh harder.

We keep on talking and laughing, and when the house-elves offer to get us more food, we happily accept. My eyes start to get a little heavy, and I let out a little yawn.

"Tired, are you?" Fred asks, grinning.

"I'm naturally brilliant," he replies.

"Whatever you say, Freddie," I laugh, and there's another moment of silence.

"So, Hazel," Fred says suddenly, sounding weirdly nervous.

"So, Fred," I say, mocking his tone, hoping to lighten the mood. It works; he laughs softly. "What's up, then?"

"Not... interested in someone, are you?"

"Oh, please don't tell me you're starting that again," I groan. "I already told you, I'm not interested in anyone. Even ask Hermione. She'd be, like, the very first person I'd tell if I fancied someone."

"Are you sure?" Fred asks, disbelieving, as the house-elves give us our food.

"Yes, I'm quite sure, Freddie," I insist, giggling a bit now.

"All right..." Fred mumbles, sounding quite unconvinced. I tilt my head, staring at him intently, biting my lower.

"Why do you care so much, anyway?" I ask softly.

He looks up at me very quickly. He doesn't speak for a moment, he just looks at me.

"Because you're one of my best friends," he replies slowly, as though trying to find the right words, "and you mean a lot to me. And I just want to know who it is, because I just want to know the bloke who's making one of my best friends happy. And so I know who to murder if they ever hurt you."

A small smile spreads slowly across my face, my heart expands, and a nice, warm feeling spreads through my body that has nothing to do with the hot chocolate.

"Fred Gideon Weasley, that may have just been the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," I state, that smile widening a little.

"I've been known to say nice things every now and then," Fred says jokingly, and I chuckle softly.

Fred very casually puts an arm around my waist, and, after a slight hesitation, I rest my head on his shoulder. This is perfect. This moment is perfect. Nothing could ruin it. Nothing. Sitting with Fred, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, talking and laughing while drinking hot chocolate. No drama, no confusion, just talking, with occasional sleepy, peaceful silence.

I could tell him. I could tell him how I feel. I could tell him that I do like someone - and it's  _him_. The mood is  _perfect_ for it. I could get it off my chest... hey, maybe if I'm lucky, he might feel the same way. You never  _really_ know...

But another part of me is more sensible. If I told him it'd ruin the moment. He wouldn't like me back. He can't like me back. My hope is just an effect from my tiredness. That's all it is. He doesn't like me that way, and I  _know_ that. I'm just thinking he might because I'm so tired, and can't think properly.

But, before I knew what I was doing, I hear my voice calling Fred's name.

"Yeah?" he asks in a husky sort of voice.

I take my head off his shoulder for a second, but he doesn't take his arm off my waist. We stare into each other's eyes for a moment. This is it. This is my chance. I may never get another one. He could be interested in some girl. It's now or never.

"I - I just - I'm..." I stutter nervously.

"Come on, spit it out, Knight," he says teasingly, his eyes sparkling humorously, but he's still staring intently into my eyes.

"I just wanted to say that..." I manage to get out. I pause for a second, trying to find the words. Then I hear myself say, "I just wanted to say that I'm really happy that I met you that day on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, when I ran into the train."

Fred and I laugh at the memory.

"And, you know, I obviously don't say this much, but I really do love you. You know, as a brother, obviously." I add the last bit, and hate myself immediately after. I'm in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart, but I can't even tell Fred that I fancy him? Maybe the Sorting Hat made a mistake with me... "And, uhm, you know, you're one of my best friends, and I'm just really happy that we're as close as we are, and, uh, yeah."

Fred smiles widely at me. "And, that, Hazel Jasmine Knight, must be the sweetest thing  _you've_ ever said to  _me_."

I smile, laugh a bit, and mocking his voice, say, "I've been known to say nice things every now and then."

"I don't talk like that," Fred laughs.

"Sure you don't, Freddie," I grin, and I rest my head on his shoulder again, trying to hide my disappointment about how much of a coward I am.

"You know, I'm quite glad I met you too," Fred says after a moment, and my smile widens. Fred looks at his watch. "It's pretty late. Almost four thirty. We should get to bed, get some more sleep before classes tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay," I say. "Let me just finish up my hot chocolate. you go ahead, I'll catch up in a second."

"All right. I'll take the usual way," Fred informs me, beginning to walk out.

"Okay," I say, and he thanks all the house-elves, opens the door and walks out.

I let out a loud sigh as soon as the door closes behind him. I'm such a coward. How hard could it have really been? "I fancy you, Fred". That's it. Four words. That's all it is. I might never get another chance. I bury my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes.

"I'm a coward," I mumble through my hand, making my voice sound very muffled. "A stupid pathetic coward."

I take my mug of chocolate, and raise it in the air, to do another toast.

"To first and second year," I murmur. "When things were simple, and I was brave, and he didn't make me weak."

With that, I drain the rest of my mug, thank the house-elves very much ("'Twas no problem, miss! Come back any time!"), and head out of the kitchens to catch up with Fred.


	19. New People, New Information, and the Amazing Bouncing Ferret

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Nineteen: New People, New Information, and the Amazing Bouncing Ferret**

 

The storm finally finishes when I wake up for the second time, this time at seven o'clock. Although, the ceiling of the Great Hall still looks gloomy. A few seats away, Fred, George, and Lee are discussing ways to age themselves and bluffing into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Today's not bad... outside all morning," Ron comments, running his finger down the Monday column of his timetable, "Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and Care of Magical Creatures... damn it, we're still with the Slytherins..."

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groans, looking down.

So much for a decent say... Divination is my least favourite subject, right along with Potions and History of Magic. Why didn't I give it up? What was I thinking, keeping Divination and getting rid of Arithmancy?

"You should've given it up like me, shouldn't you?" Hermione says briskly, buttering herself some toast. So, she's eating again. Must've gotten hungry. "Then you'd be doing something sensible, like Arithmancy."

"You're eating again, I notice," Ron says, watching as Hermione adds jam to her toast.

"I've decided there are other ways of taking a stand about elf rights," Hermione replies haughtily.

"Yeah... and you were hungry," Ron says, grinning.

There's a sudden rustling noise above us, and I look up to see hundreds of owls soaring through the open windows, carrying the morning mail. I look up, searching for Midnight, and find his black feathers quite easily among all the brown and grey. Midnight spots me, as well, and soars down onto the table in front of me, Remus' reply attached to his leg. I untie the letter with slight difficulty, and once I manage to free it, Midnight takes a nibble of my granola, before nipping my finger affectionately, and flying off.

I unfold the letter, and read through it.

 

_Dear Hazel,_

_It's certainly a relief to hear that you're okay! That is awfully mysterious, though... The Death Eaters on the march were the ones that managed to worm their way out of Azkaban. And seeing the Dark Mark is just like seeing Voldemort back, and I don't suppose Voldemort would be too pleased to find out that his loyal servants claimed to never willingly be in league with him... was the person who conjured the Dark Mark showing support for the Death Eaters, or scaring them away?_

_As for Mr. Crouch's elf, from what I've heard about Barty Crouch, that doesn't surprise me. Especially after what happened to his son. In case you didn't know, his son, Barty Crouch Jr., was sent to Azkaban for torturing the Longbottoms into insanity, along with two others. It's why Neville lives with his grandmother. If you didn't already know that, please don't bring it up to Neville, all right? If he wants to discuss it with you, he will in due time. In fact, don't bring it up to anyone, for that matter. Anyway, after what happened with his son, Mr. Crouch lost it all. It happened just as everyone was talking about him becoming Minister of Magic. So Cornelius Fudge got the job..._

_Speaking of Fudge, he and a lot of the members of the Ministry strongly believe in the purity of blood. And, well, they believe half-breeds - especially ones as dangerous as I am - just shouldn't be able to work with other wizards, preferably pure-blood wizards. I guess, in a way, I don't blame them. I'm extremely dangerous; I nearly killed you, Ron, Harry, and Hermione just last year!_

_All right, fine, but if he ever hurts you, you better tell me..._

_Sincerely,_

_Remus._

 

Upon finishing the letter, I blink, looking at it blankly, before re-reading the bit about Neville's parents. I look up at Neville, who's having a conversation about something with Dean and Seamus. I've always known he lived with his grandmother, why haven't I ever bothered to find out why? Why have I never even thought about it? People often give me sympathy because I haven't got any parents. But quite honestly, I think Neville has got it much wore. He has his parents, but they're insane, probably don't even know who he is... I'd rather my parents be dead, than have them be alive, but weak, insane, and not even recognizing me,. Having them be so close, but so far away...

"What's up?" Hermione asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh, uh, nothing," I say, shrugging, and hoping I sounded casual.

"What did the letter say?" she asks, frowning a little.

"Just that Remus was wondering if whoever cast the Dark Mark was supporting the Death Eaters or scaring them off, that he isn't surprised Mr. Crouch sacked his house-elf-" at the mention Mr. Crouch, Hermione gives a very angry sniff, "-and he talked about how the Ministry is all for blood purity and that stupid rubbish."

"All right," Hermione says, finishing up what's left of her breakfast.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I walk down across the vegetable patch, into greenhouse three, where Professor Sprout shows the ugliest looking plant I've ever seen - and I've seen Mandrakes. They look more like thick, giant slugs rather than plants, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each of them are squirming in an extremely disgusting way, and have a bunch of swellings on it, which seem to be full of some sort of liquid.

"Bubotubers," Professor Sprout tells us briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus-"

"The  _what_?" Seamus Finnigan asks, looking horrified.

"Pus, Finnigan, pus," Sprout repeats, "and it's very valuable, so don't wast it. You will collect the pus, I say, in these bottles. Wear your dragon hide gloves, it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, Bubotuber pus."

Squeezing the Bubotubers is extremely disgusting, but quite satisfying. Whenever each swelling pops, a large amount of thick yellowish green liquid bursts out of it, which smells strongly like Petrol. They put it in bottles like Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson, the entire class has collected several pints of it.

"This'll keep Madam Pomfrey happy," Sprout says, stoppering the last bottle with a cork, "an excellent remedy for the most stubborn forms of acne, Bubotuber pus. Should stop students from resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves if pimples."

"Like poor Eloise Midgen," Hannah Abott says in a hushed voice. "She tried to curse hers off."

"Silly girl," Sprout says, shaking her head. "But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end."

A booming bell echoes from the castle, signalling the end of the lesson, and the class separates; Gryffindors down to Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures, and the Hufflepuffs heading up the stone steps for Transfiguration.

Hagrid's standing outside his cabin, one arm around his giant boar hound, Fang. There are several crates open at his feet, and Fang is whimpering and straining against his collar, clearly keen to investigate the contents of the crates. As we draw closer, odd rattling noises reach my ears, punctuated by what sounds like minor explosions. Hermione and I exchange nervous glances; Hagrid has a thing for thinking dangerous creatures are like cuddly teddy bears.

"Mornin'!" Hagrid greets Harry, Ron, Hermione and I when he sees us. "Be'er wait for the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this - Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Come again?" Ron asks.

Hagrid points down at the crates in reply.

"Eurgh!" Lavender Brown squeals, jumping back.

"Eurgh!" just about describes these Blast-Ended Skrewts, to me. They look like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy looking, with legs sticking out in weird palces, and no visible head. There are about a hundred of them in each create, none of them longer than six inches, crawling over each other, bumping blindly into the side of the crates. They give off a very powerful scent of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks fly out of the end of a skrewt, and, with a small " _phut_ ", it would be propelled forward several inches.

"On'y just hatched," Hagrid announces proudly, "so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit of a project of it!"

Oh, goody...

"And why would we  _want_ to raise them?" a cold voice from behind us asks.

The Slytherins have arrived, and, just as I expected, the voice had come from Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle chuckle appreciatively at his words, while Hagrid looks stumped at his question.

"I mean, what do they  _do_?" Malfoy elaborates. "What's the point of them?"

Hagrid opens his mouth, apparently thinking hard. There's a few seconds where he pauses, before saying roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer just feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll want ter try different things - I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer - I got eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass-snake - just try 'em out with a bit of each."

"First pus and now this," Seamus grumbles.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid gets Harry, Ron, Hermione and I to pick up squelched handfuls of frog liver and lower them over the crates in order to tempt the Skrewts. I have the slight suspicion that this entire lesson is pointless, since none of them seem to have mouths.

"Ouch!" Dean Thomas shouts after ten minutes. "It got me!"

Hagrid hurries over, looking anxious.

"Its end exploded!" Dean exclaims, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can sometimes happen when they blast off," Hagrid explains.

"Eurgh!" Lavender squeals once more. "Eurgh! Hagrid, what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of them have stings," Hagrid explains, making Lavender quickly take her hand away from the box. "I reckon those are the males... the females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies... I think they might be ter suck blood..."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Malfoy says sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

I find myself agreeing with Malfoy, in spite of myself.

"Just because they're not very pretty, doesn't mean they're not useful!" Hermione snaps. "Dragon's blood is amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon as a pet, would you?"

I suddenly feel very appreciative of Hermione.

"Well, at least the Skrewts are small," Ron points out as we head back up to the castle for lunch.

"They are  _now_ ," Hermione says in exasperation, "but once Hagrid's found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long."

"Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure sea sickness or something, will it?" Ron says, grinning slyly at her.

"You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up," Hermione says. "As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all."

We sit down at the Gryffindor table and help ourselves to lamb chops and potatoes. Hermione begins to eat so quickly that Harry, Ron and I stare at her in disbelief.

"Er - is this your new stand to elf rights?" Ron asks. "You're going to make yourself puke instead?"

"No," Hermione replies, with as much dignity as she could muster with a mouthful of sprouts - which isn't much, mind you, "I just want to get to the library."

"What?" Ron says incredulously. "Hermione - it's the first day back! We haven't even got homework yet!"

Hermione shrugs and continues to shovel food into her mouth. It's kind of funny to think that just yesterday, she was determined to not eat, and now she's eating as though she hasn't in days. Then she leaps to her feet, says, "See you at dinner!" and hurries off.

When the bell rings to signal the start of afternoon lessons, we get to our feet, and set off for the North Tower, where, at the top of a tightly spiralling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room where Professor Trelawney lives.

The familiar sweet perfume emanating from the fire meet my nostrils the minute we emerge at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains are closed; the circular room is bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps, which are draped in scarves and shawls. Harry, Ron, and I walk through the clutter of occupied chintz chairs and poufs, and sit at the usual circular table.

"Good day," Professor Trelawney's misty voice says right behind our table, making me jump.

Professor Trelawney is a very thin woman with enormous glasses that make her eyes appear much too large for her face. The usual amount of beads, chains, and bangles glitter in the firelight. Just as she always is when she looks at Harry, she's wearing a very tragic expression, which makes me roll my eyes.

"You are preoccupied, my dear," she says mournfully to Harry. "My inner eye sees past your brave face to the troubles soul within. And I regret to say your worried are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead of you, alas... most difficult... I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass... and perhaps sooner than you think..."

Her voice drops to a whisper.

Ron rolls his eyes, and, as Trelawney sweeps past, I whisper, very quietly, since the room is dead silent, "She's already used that prophecy. Remember, she said it to Lavender? About her rabbit or whatever it was dying."

Ron stifles a snicker, and Harry smirks slightly, before putting a straight face back on. Professor Trelawney seats herself at her winged chair at the front of the class. Lavender and Parvati Patil, who've always admired Trelawney, are sitting on poufs very close to her.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," Trelawney announces. "The movement of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only is one knows the celestial dance."

The celestial dance? Is that some sort of traditional dance that aliens do on their planets, or what? Dance... dancing... that's like the dream I had of Fred once... We were dancing... I was wearing that dress that Mrs. Weasley got for me, and I looked really pretty in it. We were terrible dancers, something that doesn't surprise me, but we had fun all the same. Then he kissed me. He kissed me softly for a long time, holding my waist with one hand, the other touching my cheek, while my arms went around his neck... then he held me in his arms and stroked my hair lightly while he told me everything he loved about me... he kept repeating things, like my laugh or my smile. Fred gave off the faint impression that he was making sure I knew he loved it, since I hated them both so much... if only that'd actually happen...

"Harry!" I hear Ron hiss, snapping me out of my daydream to see what's happening.

"What?" Harry hisses back, and, looking around, sees that the whole class is staring at him.

"I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn," Professor Trelawney says, with slight resentment, clearly upset that Harry hadn't been hanging on to her every word.

"Born under - what, sorry?" Harry asks.

"Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!" Trelawney says, irritated that Harry isn't finding this positively riveting. "I was saying Saturn was certainly in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth... your dark hair... your mean stature... such tragic losses at such a young age... I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in mid-winter?"

"No," Harry says blankly. "I was born in July."

I have to bite my lip to stifle my laughter, and Ron quickly turns his laughing into a hacking cough.

Half an hour later, each of us are given a complicated star-chart, and have to fill the position of each of the planets at the moment of our birth. It's dull work, with much consultation of timetables and calculation of angles. While I work, I think dully of what I'd be doing if I was in Arithmancy...

"I've got two Neptunes here," Harry says, frowning, "that can't be right, can it?"

"Aaaah," Ron says, putting on a voice like Trelawney's, "when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born..."

Dean and Seamus, who're working at a nearby table, snigger loudly at that, but not loudly enough to cover the squeals coming from Lavender Brown.

"Oh, professor, look! I think I've got an unknown planet! Oooh, which one's that, professor?"

How can someone be so into  _Divination_?

"It is Uranus, my dear," Trelawney replies, peering down at Lavender's chart. I let out a slight snort; so much for it being unknown.

"Can I have a look at Uranus, too, Lavender?" Ron says, and I let out a laugh in spite of myself.

Unfortunately, Trelawney hears us, which is probably why she gives us so much homework.

"A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming months will affect you, with reference to your personal chart," she barks, much like Professor McGonagall, and not her usual airy fairy self. "I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!"

"Miserable old bat," Ron grumbles, as we join the jostling crowds heading to the Great Hall for dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will..."

"Not if you just put the first thing that comes to mind," I say, shrugging.

"Lots of homework?" Hermione says brightly. "Professor Vector didn't give  _us_ any at all!"

I feel a stab of annoyance at Hermione, coupled with annoyance at myself for not sticking with Arithmancy and dropping Divination.

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron says moodily.

We reach the Entrance Hall, where there's already a long line of people queuing up for dinner. We've just reached the end of the line when a loud voice from behind us makes us turn around.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!" It's Malfoy replies, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet, speaking loudly so that everyone in the packed Entrance Hall can hear. Nope, this definitely can't be good. "Listen to this: ' _Further Mistakes at the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes_ Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.  _Recently under the fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry is plunged into fresh embarrassment by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Arnold Weasley, who was charged for possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved with a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers('policemen) over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror, who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprising, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he was able to escape from the policemen, but refused to answer the_ Daily Prophet's _questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene_ '. And there's a picture, Weasley!" Malfoy adds, after he finishes reading, flipping the paper and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house - if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with a bit of losing weight, couldn't she?"

Ron is positively shaking with fury. Everyone in the Entrance Hall is staring at him avidly.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," Harry says. "C'mon, Ron..."

"Oh, yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" Malfoy says. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just in the picture?"

"You know  _your_ mother, Malfoy?" Harry says, as he and I both grab the back of Ron's robes to stop him from jumping on Malfoy. "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because she was with you?"

Malfoy's face goes a brilliant shade of pink, while I don't bother to stifle my laughter. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Keep your mouth shut, then," Harry says, turning away.

There's a loud bang, and several people scream. A flash of light zooms right past the side of Harry's face, just grazing it. Malfoy had tried to curse Harry while he had his back turned, the coward! Suddenly, there was a second loud bang, and a roar echoes around the Entrance Hall.

"OH, NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"

I spin around. Professor Moody's limping down the marble staircase. His wand is out and pointing right at a pure white ferret, which is shivering on the stone-flagged floor, right where Malfoy was standing a few seconds ago. He didn't...

There's a terrified silence in the Entrance Hall, and nobody moves except for Moody. Moody turns to look at Harry - well, his normal eye is looking at Harry. The other one is pointing to the back of his head.

"Did he get you?" Moody asks, his voice low and gravelly.

"No," Harry replies, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouts, so suddenly that I jump a little.

"Leave - what?" Harry asks, bewildered.

"Not you - him!" Moody growls, jerking his thumb back at Crabbe, who had apparently went to pick up the ferret. It seems that Moody's rolling eye's magical and can see out of the back of his head. As creepy as it looks, I got to admit, it's wicked!

Moody starts to limp towards the ferret, Crabbe, and Goyle. The ferret gives a terrified squeak, and starts streaking towards the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" Moody roars, pointing his wand at the ferret once more - it flies ten feet into the air, falls with a smack to the floor, and bounces upwards once more. "I don't like people who attack when their opponent has their back turned," Moody growls, as the ferret bounces higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do..." the ferret flies through the air, flailing its legs and tail helplessly. "Never - do - that - again-" Moody says, punctuating each word with the ferret hitting the stone floor and bouncing up again.

"Professor Moody!" a shocked voice says.

Professor McGonagall arrives at the bottom of the marble staircase, her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Moody greets calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What - what are you doing?" she asks, her eyes following the ferret.

"Teaching," Moody replies. Well, that's one way to put it...

"Teach - Moody,  _is that a student_?" Professor McGonagall shrieks, the books spilling out of her arms.

"Yep," Moody replies off-handedly.

"No!" Professor McGonagall cries, pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a snapping noise, Draco Malfoy reappears, lying in a heap on the floor with his usually sleek blonde hair all over his now brilliantly pink face.

I grin widely, as he gets to his feet, wincing - serves him right.

"Moody, we  _never_ use Transfiguration as a punishment," Professor McGonagall says weakly, yet somewhat sternly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," Moody replies, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I still think a good sharp shock-"

"We give out detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender's Head of House!"

"I'll do that, then," Moody says, staring at Malfoy with intense dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes are still watering with pain and humiliation, look maleveolently up at Moody and mutters something along the lines of "my father". What a baby...

"Oh yeah?" Moody says quietly, stepping closer to Malfoy, the clunks of his wooden leg echoing in the silent Entrance Hall. "Well, I know your father of old, boy... you tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on your son... you tell him that from me... now, your Head of House will be Snape, will it?"

"Yes," Malfoy says resentfully.

"Another old friend..." Moody growls. "I've been looking forward to a chat with Snape... come on, you..." and he seizes Malfoy by the upper arm and drags him down to the dungeons.

"Don't talk to me," Ron says quietly to Harry, Hermione and I as we sit down at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by excited conversation about what just happened.

"Why not?" Hermione asks, surprised.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory for the rest of my life," Ron replies, closing his eyes with an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret..."

Harry, Hermione and I laugh, and Hermione begins serving each of us beef casserole.

"He could've really hurt Malfoy, though," she points out. "It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it-"

"Hermione!" Ron says furiously, opening his eyes. "You're ruining the best moment of my life!"

Hermione makes an impatient noise, and begins eating at top speed once more.

"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening," Harry says, watching her.

"Got to," Hermione replies, "loads to do."

"But you told us Professor Vector-"

"It's not school work," Hermione interrupts. Within five minutes, she was done eating, and departed.

Almost as soon as Hermione was gone, her seat is taken by Fred.

"Moody!" he says. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," George says, sitting opposite Fred.

"Super cool," Lee Jordan adds, sitting down next to George. "We had him this afternoon."

"What's he like?" I ask eagerly.

They exchange meaningful exchanges.

"Never had a lesson like it," Fred replies.

"He  _knows_ , man," Lee insists.

"Knows what?" Ron asks.

"Knows that it's like to be out there  _doing it_ ," George elaborates impressively.

"Doing what?" Harry asks.

"Fighting the Dark Arts," Fred replies.

"He's seen it all," George says.

"'Mazing," Lee agrees.

Ron dives into his backpack, and pulls out his timetable a moment later.

"We haven't got him until Thursday!" he announces, disappointed.

After I'm finished eating, I go back up to the common room alone, as Fred, George, Harry, or Ron aren't done, and I want to get started on that stupid Divination homework.

As I exit the Great Hall, I bump into someone who was about to enter it. We both fall over to the ground.

"Ouch! Sorry, sorry!" a very nervous boy's voice says.

I sit up, pushing the hair out of my face, and find a boy around my age, looking very apologetic. He was already up on his feet, and is holding out his hand for me to take. I take it, and he helps me up to my feet.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going, this always happens... unbelievable... I'm so clumsy... my mum's always telling me that it's going to be the death of me..."

"Hey, it's fine," I say, giggling a bit at how nervous he is. "I wasn't paying attention, either, it's my fault too..."

He smiles at me sheepishly, "Yeah. Right..."

"Anyway, I'm Hazel. Hazel Knight," I say, holding my hand out for him to shake.

"Oh, I know," the boy says, shaking my hand. "You're the brilliant girl who always saves the day with Harry Potter and gets too many detentions to count with all the pranks you play."

He lets go of my hand, and I must look as weirded out, amused, and flattered as I feel, because he quickly adds. "That sounds really creepy, doesn't it? Sorry, it's just, you're pretty well-known, you know..."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "I never realized..."

There's a silence, and I quickly add, "Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Oh, it's Jace Landon," he replies. "My first name's actually Jason, but I prefer Jace..."

"Jace," I repeat, smiling slightly. "I like it..."

"Thanks," he says. "Your name's nice, too."

"What year are you in?" I ask him. "I haven't seen you around before."

"I'm a fourth year Ravenclaw," Jace replies. "I've been in some of your classes, obviously, but you just haven't notice me..."

"Oh," I say dully. "Oh. Uh, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, it's not your fault," he shrugs.

There's another awkward silence, and I take in his appearance properly. He has messy, shaggy dark brown, and bright blue eyes. His face is slightly tan, and he's a few inches taller than I am. He's skinny, built the same way Harry is, only taller. I can't help but notice that he's  _very_ attractive.

"Uh, so how about what Moody did?" I say awkwardly.

"Why? What did he do?" Jace asks, confused.

"Don't tell me you didn't see it! I can't believe you didn't see it! It was bloody brilliant! Draco Malfoy - he's in our year, in Slytherin - was being a right git, and tried to curse my friend Harry while his back was turned - you know, Harry Potter, obviously you know him-"

"Obviously," Jace agrees, laughing a bit.

"-and it missed him, but Moody saw and went mental. He ended up turning Malfoy into a ferret and bouncing him around the room until McGonagall showed up and changed him back."

"Really? I can't believe I missed that!" he exclaims, looking extremely disappointed.

"I'm guessing you don't like Malfoy much, huh?" I say, grinning.

"Well, as I'm Muggle-born, he and I don't exactly see eye-to-eye," he replies, shrugging. "Not to mention that he - like you said - is a right git, and I'm not."

I laugh, nodding in agreement. "Right. Well, uh, I've got to go. I've already got homework - stupid Trelawney..." I gesture absent-mindedly to my bag, "but I'll talk to you later, all right? It was really nice meeting you, Jace!"

"Yeah, all right," he says, grinning at me. "It was nice meeting you, too, Hazel."


	20. The Unforgivable Curses

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty: The Unforgivable Curses**

 

The next two days are fairly uneventful; unless, of course, you count Neville melting his sixth cauldron during Potions. Professor Snape, who seems to have gotten even more malicious over the summer, gave Neville a detention, in which he returned from in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel-ful of horned toads.

"You know why Snape's in such a foul mood, don't you?" Ron says to Harry and I, as we watch Hermione teach Neville a Scouring Charm to clean out the toad guts from under his fingernails, much to my disgust.

"Yeah," Harry replies. "Moody."

It's common knowledge to anyone in the school that Snape wants the job as Defene Against the Dark Arts teacher, and has now failed to get the job for the fourth year in a row. Snape's disliked all of our past Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, and shown it very clearly - especially Remus - but he seems strangely wary of showing any hatred towards Moody. Whenever I see them together - at mealtimes, or whenever they pass each other in the corridors - Snape seems very keen to not make eye contact, whether magical or normal.

"I reckon Snape's a bit scared of him, you know," Harry announces thoughtfully.

"Imagine if Moody turned Snape into a horned toad," Ron says, his eyes misting over, "and bounced him all around his dungeons..."

All the Gryffindor fourth years are so excited for Defence Against the Dark Arts that we arrive early after lunch on Thursday and queue up outside the classroom before the bell even rings. The only person who isn't there is Hermione, who shows up just as the bell rings, looking breathless. That's quite odd of Hermione.

"Been in the-"

"Library," Harry finishes for her. "C'mon, quick, or we won't get decent seats."

We hurry into the four seats right in front of the teacher's desk, take out copies of  _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ and wait, weirdly quiet. Soon we can hear Moody's distinct clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and a few moments later, he enters the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever.

"You can put those away," he informs us, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, "those books. You won't need 'em."

We put our books back in our bags immediately, Ron looking very excitedly. Moody takes register, shaking his long mane of grizzled grey hair out of his scarred face as his normal eye goes through the list whilst his magical eye swivels around the classroom, fixing itself upon a student whenever they answer to be present.

"Right, then," Moody says, when the last person declares themselves as present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've have a very thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures - you've covered Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There's a general murmur of confirmation in reply.

"But you're behind - very behind - on dealing with curses," Moody continues. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch about what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark-"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurts out.

Moody's magical eye swivels around to stare at Ron; he looks apprehensive at first, but when Moody smiles - the first time I've ever seen him do so, mind you, and it makes his face look more contorted than ever - Ron looks slightly relieved.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody says. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago... yeah, I'm staying just this year. Special favour to Dumbledore... one year, and then I'm back to my quiet retirement."

He gives a harsh laugh, and claps his gnarled hands together.

"So, straight into it - curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough with it 'til then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, and reckons you can cope, and I say the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put a curse on you isn't going to tell you what they're about to do. They're not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that way while I'm talking, Miss Brown."

Lavender jumps and blushes. She'd been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk. Apparently, Moody's magical eye can see through solid surfaces, as well as out of the back of his head. I roll my eyes; how could she be talking about that  _now_?

"So... do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rise tentatively into the air, including Ron and Hermione's. Moody points at Ron, though his magical eye is still fixed intently on Lavender.

"Er," Ron says tentatively, "my dad told me about one... is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," Moody says appreciatively, nodding. "Your father  _would_ know about that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody gets to his mismatched feet, opens his desk drawer, and takes out a glass jar. Three large, black spiders are scuttling around inside it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ron recoil slightly - Ron hates spiders. I fight to keep a straight face, feeling both fond of Ron and amused. Moody reaches into the jar, pulls out one of the spiders, and holds it in his palm.

He then points his wand at it, and says, " _Imperio_."

The spider leaps from his hand on a find thread of silk, and begins to swing backwards and forwards as though on a trapeze. It stretches its legs out rigidly, does a back flip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it begins to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerks his wand, and the spider rises onto two of its hind legs, and breaks into what has to be a tap dance. Everyone's laughing - everyone, except for Moody.

"Think it's funny, do you?" Moody growls. "You'd like it, would you, if I did it to you?"

That shuts us all up real well.

"Total control," Moody says quietly, as the spider balls itself up and begins to roll over. "I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, shove itself down one of your throats..."

Ron shudders at that, and I cringe slightly.

"Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," Moody says, obviously referring to when Lord Voldemort was in power. "Some job for the Ministry, trying to figure out who was forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. better avoid being hit with it when you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE," he barks suddenly, making the entire class jump.

Moody picks up the somersaulting spider and throws it back in the jar. "Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hermione's hand flies into the air, as usual, and to my surprise, so does Neville's. The only class where Neville volunteers to answer questions is Herbology, which is by far his best subject. Even Neville looks surprised at his own daring.

"Yes?" Moody says, his magical eye rolling right over to look at Neville.

"There's one - the Cruciatus curse," Neville says, in a small but distinct voice.

Moody stares very intently at Neville, with both eyes this time.

"Your name's Longbottom, is it?" Moody asks, his magical eye swooping down the register.

Neville nods nervously, but Moody asks no more questions. He turns back to the class, reaches back into the jar, and pulls out a second spider, where it stays motionless, apparently too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus curse," Moody begins. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he pints his wand at the spider, and says, " _Engorgio_!"

The spider grows so big that it's now the size of a tarantula. Ron, who seems to be abandoning all pre-tense, pushes his chair back as far away from Moody's desk as possible.

Moody, meanwhile, points his wand at the spider once more, and says, " _Crucio_!"

At once, the spider's legs curl into its body, rolling over and twitching horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound comes from it, but I'm quite certain that if spiders had voices, this spider would be screaming. Moody doesn't remove his wand, and the spider continues to jerk violently-

"Stop it!" Hermione calls out shrilly.

I look around at her, and, following her gaze, find out that she's not looking at the spider, but at Neville; his hands are clenching on the desks, his knuckles white, and his eyes wide and horrified. It takes a second for me to realize why. His own parents were tortured into madness, and now he's watching the very curse that tortured and drove his parents insane. The pain and fear on his face make me feel a rush of hatred to Moody. Moody raises his wand, and the spider's legs relax, but continue to twitch occasionally.

" _Reducio_ ," Moody mutters, and the spider shrinks back to its normal size, and Moody scoops it up and puts it back in the jar. "Pain. You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you know the Cruciatus curse... that one was very popular once, too. Right... anyone know any others?"

I bite my lip nervously, wondering what could possible be next. Hermione's hand shakes slightly as she raises it slowly in the air for the third time.

"Yes?"

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," she whispers, and I turn around to look at her quickly.

Avada Kedavra... I know that one... from my dreams of Voldemort killing my parents... it's the Killing curse. Oh, Moody can't do that. He just can't...

"Ah," Moody says, another slight lopsided smile appearing on his face. "Yes, the last and worst.  _Avada Kedavra_... the Killing curse."

He puts his hand in the glass jar once more, and the third and final spider, seeming to know what's coming, scuttles around the jar frantically, seemingly determined not to be taken. All the same, Moody traps it and places it on the desk, where it begins to fruitlessly scuttle around the desk as well. When Moody raises his wand, I take a deep breath and hold it, my heart racing.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" he roars.

There's a blinding flash of green light along with a rushing sound, and the spider instantly rolls over on its back, unmarked, but definitely dead. Several girls stifle cries; Ron throws himself backwards and nearly topped off his seat as the spider skids towards him. Moody sweeps the spider off the desk onto the floor, as if this is something he does every day.

"Not nice," he says calmly, "not pleasant. And there's no counter-curse. There's no blocking it. There's only one person who's survived being hit by this curse, and he'd sitting in front of me."

Both of Moody's eyes look into Harry's, and I half glance at him. My heart's pumping wildly. Seeing that curse in dreams is one thing, it's a  _completely_ different thing to see it in real life...

"The Killing Curse is a type of curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it - you could all point your wands at me and say the incantation, and I doubt I'd get more than a nose bleed. But that doesn't matter, I'm not here to show you how to do it. Now, if there's no counter-curse, why am I showing you?  _Because you need to know._ You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he yells again, and we all jump once more. "Now, these three curses - Avada Kedavra, Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being can land you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's why I've got to teach you how to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. And, most of all, you need to practice  _constant, never-ending vigilance._ _  
_

We spend the rest of the lesson taking notes in silence. Nobody talks until the bell rings and Moody dismisses us, where people burst into a torrent of conversation about the curses we've just seen. Everyone seems to think it was some spectacular show, but I didn't find it very entertaining, to tell you the truth. Harry or Hermione don't seem to be very entertained, either.

"Hurry up," Hermione hisses at us.

"Not the ruddy library again," Ron groans.

"Not the library," Hermione says curtly, pointing up the passage. "Neville."

Neville's standing by himself halfway up the passage, looking out the window, with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had when Moody was using the Cruciatus curse.

"Neville?" Hermione says gently.

Neville looks around.

"Oh, hello," he greets in an unusually high-pitched voice. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner, I'm - I'm starving, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you all right?" Hermione asks.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Neville replies, in the same unusually high voice. "Very interesting dinner - I mean lesson. I wonder what's for eating?"

"Neville-" I begin, starting to feel extremely concerned, and wanting to say anything to make him feel better, but drawing a blank on what to say.

Moody's uneven, clunking footsteps interrupt me, and, to my slight surprise, Moody invited Neville for a cup of tea. the latter looks like he'd rather be doing anything else, but follows Moody to his office.

Hermione doesn't join our dinner conversation about Moody; instead, she eats at top speed and hurries off to the library once more.

"What the  _hell_ is she up to?" I ask, baffled, watching her leave.

"Who knows," Ron says, shaking his head.

After dinner, we walk up the marble staircase to start on our homework, until Lee Jordan bounds up the stairs after us and puts his arm around me.

"Hazel! Darling, long time, no see!" he says loudly, sounding like one of those stereotypically fake Hollywood celebrities. "We must catch up! Can I borrow dear Hazel for a moment, gents?"

Laughing, I tell Harry and Ron, "I'll catch up with you two in a bit, all right?"

"All right," they say in unison, looking amused, and Lee Jordan leads me down the marbe staircase, out the great double doors, and into the grounds.

"So, Hazel talk to me," he says, still putting on that voice. "How was your summer? Had fun? That Quidditch Cup sure was something, eh? Haven't realized you're madly in love with Fred yet, have you?" he adds quickly.

I stop laughing immediately.

"What was that last bit?" I ask incredulously.

"Come on, don't deny it. You probably stay up all night thinking about his eeeeyes, and his haiiiiir," Lee insists in a dreamy voice, and I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, right," I say sarcastically.

"Hazel, be honest here," Lee says, "you're not exactly subtle. Staring at him all the time-"

"There's a difference between looking and staring, Lee," I say nervously.

"-he's got his arm around you all the time, something you never seem to have any problem with, ever-" he continues, as though there had been no interruption.

"You've got your arm around me right now, and I've got no problem with it," I retort.

"-how many times have you nearly kissed, again?" he goes on quite determinedly.

"Heat of the moment thing," I say weakly. "Besides, it's not like we've actually-"

"-and finally, the way you talk about him," Lee finishes loudly, as we walk around the Black Lake.

"I call him a prat every two seconds!" I say indignantly.

"That, my dear Hazel, is your way of flirting," he says knowledgeably.

"No, it's not! You can't flirt without meaning to!"

"Yes, you can. You do it all the time," Lee says cheekily, and I shove him slightly. "Besides, if you didn't fancy him, you wouldn't be so keen to deny it."

I open and close my mouth repeatedly, before sighing.

"All right, maybe I kind of, sort of like him? But you can't tell him, please!"

"I dunno, Hazel, he's my best friend-"

"Lee, please!" I plead, stepping away from him and gripping his arm. "It'll wreck our friendship, please!"

"All - all right," he says grudgingly. "I won't tell him. Now, stop getting your knickers in a twist, and let go of my arm, you're making it go numb..."

"Oh. Oh, sorry," I say thickly, looking down at my tight grip on his arm, before releasing it.

Lee laughs, shaking his head slightly. "Don't know your own strength, do you, Knight?"

"Suppose not, Jordan," I shrug. "Sorry I'm so tough, I'll try to remember to go easy next time."

"Oh, really?" he says, eyebrows raised. "Tough enough to handle this?"

Without further ado, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder quite casually, and begins spinning me around. Laughing, I pound on his back in mock anger.

"Lee Jordan, you put me down right now!" I shriek, laughing.

"Say 'please'," he says maddeningly.

"PLEASE!" I yell.

"Hmmm... nope!" he laughs.

"YOU GIT!" I shout.

After a few minutes of this, he finally puts me down, and, felling very dizzy, I stagger around, before tripping and falling flat on my back.

"Apparently you're not tough enough to handle that," he grins devilishly.

"You git," I repeat, laughing, sitting back up slowly.

"Think of a new insult, will you?" he grins, sitting down next to me.

"Well, isn't this touching?" a familiar voice says behind us.

We turn around, and see Fred and George standing there. George looks amused, as does Fred, but there's something different in Fred's expression. Something I can't quite detect. I shrug it off; it's probably nothing.

"Look at the happy couple, Freddie," George teases, gesturing towards us.

"How beautiful," Fred says, nodding, but not with a bit less of his usual energy and attitude.

"Shut it," Lee advises.

"Both of you," I add.

"Why don't you make us?" Fred challenges.

Lee and I glance at each other, and say, "All right!"

We get to our feet, pull out our wands, and chase them throughout the grounds, shooting ridiculous spells, and laughing all the way.


	21. Lessons

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Lessons**

 

I return back to the Gryffindor common room twenty minutes after, laughing at the memory of Lee putting the Dancing Feet spell on George, and me putting the Jelly-Legs jinx on Fred. Classic...

I find Harry and Ron working at a table nearby, and sit down at an empty seat beside Ron, greet them, and set to work on Ancient Runes. Fred and George return soon enough, free of their jinxes and spells, but I haven't a clue where Lee went. They sit down at the opposite wall, take out quills, put their heads together, looking at a single piece of parchment. That's rather odd; they're not ones to be working quietly by themselves. Maybe they're making a new order form?

I shake my head to snap out of it, and continue to work. However, I catch a glimpse of Harry's prediction, and a smirk crosses my face. It's so tragic that it must be made up.

"I see you lot have taken my advice and made it all up," I comment.

"What ever do you mean?" Ron says sarcastically. "We worked oh, so hard on this!"

"Right," I laugh, shaking my head.

Shortly after, Fred and George roll up the parchment, bid us goodnight, and head up to bed. Ten minutes after their departure, the portrait hole swings open, and Hermione climbs inside, carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand, and a box that rattles whenever she moves in the other.

"Hello!" she greets cheerfully. "I've just finished!"

"So have I!" Ron says triumphantly, throwing down his quill.

Hermione sits down, puts her things down on an empty armchair, and pulls Ron's prediction towards her.

"Not having a very good month, are you?" Hermione notes, as Crookshanks curls up in her lap.

"Ah, well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron yawns.

"You seem to be drowning twice," Hermione points out.

"Oh, am I?" Ron says, peering down at his predictions. "I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a raging Hippogriff."

"Don't think you're making it a little obvious you've made it all up?" Hermione asks. "At least Hazel's are kind of realistic."

"How dare you?" Ron exclaims, in mock rage. "We've been working this house-elves here!"

I cringe slightly - very poor choice of words, Ron. Very poor choice, indeed. Hermione raises her eyebrows.

"It's just an expression," Ron says hastily.

"Besides," I add, trying to get the subject away from house-elves for Ron's sake, "Trelawney doesn't care how unrealistic the predictions are, as long as they're tragic."

Harry lays down his quill as well, having finished his predictions. I peer over at it. Death by decapitation. Interesting...

"So, what's in the box?" Harry asks.

"Funny you should ask," Hermione says, with a nasty glance at Ron. It'll be about house-elves, then...

She takes off the lid, and shows us the contents. Inside are about fifty badges, all different colours, but with the same letters on it: S.P.E.W.

"'Spew'?" Harry asks, picking up a badge and examining it. "What's this all about?"

"Not  _spew_ ," Hermione says impatiently, "S-P-E-W. It stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."

"Never heard of it," Ron says.

"Well, of course you haven't," Hermione says briskly, "because I've only just started it now."

"You might want to chose a better name before you go on with it," I mumble under my breath.

Hermione seems to hear me, and glares at me murderously before saying, "I was going to make it Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but that wouldn't fit, so that's the heading of our manifesto."

"Yeah?" Ron says, mildly surprised. "How many members have you got, then?"

"Well, if you three join - four," Hermione replies.

"And you expect us to walk around wearing badges that say 'spew' on them, do you?" Ron asks, raising an eyebrow.

"S-P-E-W," Hermione says hotly, and I just manage to keep a straight face. You'd think she'd realize everyone's just going to call it 'spew', no matter what she says. She brandishes the sheaf of parchment, "I've been searching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement has been going on for centuries, I can't believe nobody's done anything about it until now..."

"Open your ears, Hermione!" Ron says loudly. "They. Like. It. They  _like_ being enslaved."

I'd say it's more the fact that they're used to it and therefore more comfortable with it, than the fact that they truly  _like_ it."

"Our short-term aims," Hermione continues, louder than Ron, as though she hadn't heard anything he just said, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing laws about non-wand-use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly unrepresented."

"And how exactly are we supposed to do all that?" Harry asks warily.

"We start by recruiting members," Hermione explains excitedly. "I thought two Sickles to join - that'll be for the badge - and the proceeds can go to our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron - I've got a collecting tin for you upstairs - Harry, you're secretary - so you should probably copy all this down as a record of our first meeting - and Hazel, you're vice president - so you ought to be recruiting people and helping me arrange meetings."

There's a pause in which Hermione beams at us, Harry and I exchange glances that are both exasperated at Hermione, and amused at Ron's dumbstruck expression. The silence is finally broken by a soft 'tap, tap, tap' at the window, and looking across the empty common room, find Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, perched on the window sill, illuminated by the moonlight.

"Hedwig!" Harry shout, jumping off his chair and launching himself across the common room to pull open the window.

Hedwig flies inside, soars across the room, and lands on the table on top of Harry's predictions.

"About time!" Harry says, hurrying after her.

"She's got an answer!" Ron says excitedly, pointing at the grubby piece of parchment tied to her leg.

Harry hastily unties it, and sits back down, where Hedwig, hooting softly, perches herself on Harry's knee.

"What does it say?" Hermione asks breathlessly.

Harry opens his mouth to read aloud:

' _Harry-_

_I'm flying north immediately. The news about your scar hurting is the latest in a series of strange rumours that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore - apparently he's got Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if everyone else isn't._

_I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron, Hermione and Hazel. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

_Sirius._ '

Harry looks back at us, and all we can do is stare back.

"He's flying north?" I whisper, horrified. "He's coming _back_?"

"Dumbledore's reading what signs?" Ron asks, perplexed. "Harry - what's up?"

For Harry just hit himself in the forehead with his fist, making Hedwig jolt off of him.

"I shouldn't have told him!" Harry exclaims, looking furious.

"Why not?" Ron asks, surprised.

"It's made him think he's got to come back!" Harry explains, now slamming his fist on the table so that Hedwig flies off of it and lands on the back of Ron's chair, hooting indignantly. "Coming back because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me! And I've got nothing for you, you know," Harry adds quite rudely, "if you want food you'll have to go to the owlery."

Hedwig gives him an extremely offended look, and takes off for the open window, hitting Harry around the head with her outstretched wing as she goes.

"Harry," Hermione begins gently.

"I'm going to bed," Harry says shortly. "See you in the morning."

And he gets up and walks to the boys' dormitories without taking his predictions. Ron, Hermione and I exchange nervous glances.

"He can't actually blame himself, can he?" Hermione asks, staring after him.

"Knowing Harry, he can," I confirm, shaking my head in slight exasperation.

"He's mental," Ron says, and I shrug.

"He's just scared," I say. "Sirius is finally out of Azkaban after _thirteen years._ Can you imagine how Harry would feel if Sirius was chucked back because he decided to come back north after that letter?"

"I know that," Hermione says, slightly impatiently, "but he still shouldn't... I mean, it is really risky, but-"

"Come off it, both of you," Ron says, trying to sound confident. "Sirius isn't so stupid to get himself caught again."

"Right," I agree, trying to convince myself. "Right. You know what? I think I'm going to bed, too. Goodnight."

I roll up my Ancient Runes homework. I'm only about half way done, but whatever. I'll finish it tomorrow. I shove the parchment into my bag, which I swing over my shoulder. I wave Ron and Hermione goodbye, and hurry up the steps to bed.

"That was a  _lie_ , Harry," Hermione says sharply to Harry the next day during breakfast, after he tells us about the letter he sent Sirius.

"So what?" Harry says. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me, Hermione."

"Drop it," Ron advises Hermione under his breath, and for once, she listens to what he says, and falls silent.

"Well, if that's not a miracle, I don't know what is," I whisper to Harry under my breath, nodding slightly at Ron and Hermione.

Over the next few weeks, Harry seems to be worrying about something, and I can tell that it's Sirius. I wish there was something I could say to make him feel better, but what can I do? I've already told him a couple times that Sirius'll be fine, and that he'll know not to get caught, but that doesn't really mean much.

If only we still had Quidditch going on. That always gets his mind off things. But our lessons are getting pretty demanding, so that gets his mind off things, whether in a pleasant way or not. Most demanding of our classes is Defence Against the Dark Arts. In fact, Moody announces, to the entire class' surprise, and my indignation, that he will be putting the Imperius Curse on each of us in turn, and seeing if we can fight it.

"But - but you said it's illegal, Professor," Hermione says uncertainly, as Moody sweeps away the desk with a wave of his wand, leaving an empty space in the middle of the room. "You said the use of it on another human is-"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," Moody says, staring at Hermione with his magical eye, "If you'd rather experience it the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so that they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused, off you go."

Hermione turns bright pink, but doesn't move. Harry, Ron and I grin at each other. We all know Hermione would rather eat undiluted Bubotuber pus than miss a lesson this important.

Moody calls us up one by one to perform the Imperius Curse. My hands start to get sweaty as I realize what's about to happen to me very soon. Professor Moody is about to perform the Imperius Curse on me - he's about to perform an  _illegal_ curse on me. To all of us! How could he? I understand if we're training to become an Auror, but now? Really?

Again, like with the spider, he makes the students do ridiculous things that would  _normally_ be quite amusing. I don't like how he seems to be making it into a joke. I mean, it's not like I want him to make them do something terrible, but this is a little too far, in my opinion.

When he calls my name, I give myself a stern little shake to pull myself together, take a deep breath, and step forward. He points his wand at me, and says, " _Imperio_."

My mind goes blissfully blank. It's a most wonderful feeling. Every single worry, fear, doubt, negative thought in my mind disappears, leaving nothing but an untraceable happiness. Why had I been worried about this? It isn't half bad...

I'm standing there, feeling completely and utterly relaxed, when Moody's voice says in my mind, "Do a backflip... go on, do a backflip..."

I bend my knees obediently, preparing to spring. "Do it, then... do a backflip."

I jump up from the ground, curling myself up in a ball, as I flip around backwards, landing particularly hard on my feet, but sticking the landing quite well, all the same.

"Good, good... now do cartwheels around the room... come on, do it..."

Immediately, I start doing cartwheels all around the room perfectly, not even stopping once. I start to feel dizzy, but continue to cartwheel around the room.

"Stop," the voice says abruptly, and I obey instantaneously, falling down on my bum as a result. "Get up."

I scramble up to my feet, smiling vaguely.

"A big finish, yes? Do the splits... go on, do it... do the splits..." Moody's voice says.

I start to separate my legs, in order to do the splits, when somewhere in the back of my mind, there's a very small voice.

"I really don't get the point of it," the small voice insists. "Why do I have to?"

"Because I said so... it'll be good if you do it... everything will be okay as long as you do the splits."

That convinces me very well, but that small voice seems to want to put up a fight.

"How? Why? You kno what, I don't think I'll do it," the small voice says. "I'm wearing a skirt, so that'll be awkward, anyway-"

"DO THE SPLITS NOW," Moody's voice yells inside my head.

"NO!"

I'm suddenly aware of my feet spreading farther apart, very slowly, as though struggling not to. I can vaguely feel my feet moving forward, and I don't know why, but it doesn't matter, for in a second, I'm doing the splits. Turns out I'm not a very bendy person; it hurts like crazy, and when the echoing, empty feeling lifts, and I fully realize what's going on, the pain intensifies.

I manage to stop, feeling pained and awkward, and stand up, feeling very embarrassed.

"Well done, Knight," Moody says. "You managed to try and fight it."

"Yeah, right, thanks," I mumble, hurrying back to where I was standing before and hoping to never have to suffer through that again.

When Harry gets called up, he springs to his knees as though to jump, but stays how he is for the longest time... it seems like he's struggling... there's a long pause, and then-"

Harry crashes into a desk with his knees, knocking it over. I let out a sharp gasp - that's got to hurt... Moody, however, seems very impressed.

"Now, that's more like it!" he growls. "Look at that, you lot... Potter fought it! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention - watch his eyes, that's where you see it - very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"

"The way he talks," Harry says bitterly as we walk through the corridors after class - well, Harry hobbles more than anything, as Moody had made Harry fight the Imperius Curse four other times until he'd been able to throw it off completely, "you'd think we're all going to be attacked at any second."

"Yeah, I know," Ron agrees, skipping (but at least Moody said the effects would wear off by lunchtime), "talk about paranoid."

He looks around quickly to make sure Moody isn't there, before continuing.

"No wonder they were glad to be shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch that yelled 'Boo!' behind him on April Fools' day? And when are we supposed to read up on the Imperius curse with everything else we've got to do?"

True, the workload is getting steadily bigger, and one particularly frustrating Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall explains why, after we all groan loudly at the amount of homework she's given us.

"You are now all entering an important phase of your wizarding education!" she says sharply, eyes glinting dangerously behind her glasses. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer-"

"We don't take O.W.L's until fifth year!" Dean Thomas complain loudly.

"Maybe, Thomas, but you'll need all the extra practice you can get!" McGonagall insists. Ouch. "Miss Granger remains to be the only one who is able to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pin cushion. Might I remind you, Thomas, that your pincushion still curls into a ball in fright whenever someone approaches it with a pin!"

In Divination, Professor Trelawney gives Harry and Ron top marks for their predictions, for their "unflinching acceptance of the horrors of their life", much to my amusement, and I become even more amused when they're set to do more predictions for the coming month.

Professor Binns starts getting us to write weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteen century, something I barely ever get to finish, since as soon as I start reading my textbook, I lose interest. Who cares about this, anyway?

Professor Snape has us researching antidotes. This is what I take the most seriously, as does everyone else, since he hinted that he might be poisoning someone before Christmas to see if their antidote works. I'd like to think he's bluffing, but knowing Snape, he probably isn't. And I don't doubt his victim will be a Gryffindor... perhaps Neville, Harry, Hermione, Ron, me... we seem to be some of his least favourites...

Professor Flitwick has us reading three extra books just to prepare us for Summoning Charms.

Even Hagrid's adding to the workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts are growing extremely fast considering the fact that none of is have figured out what they eat yet. Hagrid, so excited about this, suggests that the class visits Hagrid's hut on alternative evenings to observe the Skrewts and take notes on their behaviour.

"I will not," Malfoy refuses flatly. "I see enough of these by day, thanks."

I agree with the sentiment, but just because it's Malfoy, I feel a rush of hatred and annoyance.

"Yeh'll do what yer told," Hagrid growls, his smile fading, "or I'll take a leaf out of Professor Moody's book... I hear yeh make an all righ' ferret, Malfoy."

Malfoy flushes. He looks furious, but apparently the pain of the memory of being turned into a ferret is too strong for him to retort. This has Harry, Ron, Hermione and I heading towards the castle in high spirits; having Hagrid insult Malfoy was satisfying, especially since Malfoy had tried so hard to get Hagrid sacked last year.

At the Entrance Hall, we're unable to move to the Great Hall, due to the amount of students all crowding around a sign that'd been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, being the tallest, goes up on tiptoe to read aloud.

" _Triwizard Tournament_

_The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday the 30th of of October. Lessons will end half an hour early-"_

"Brilliant!" Harry says excitedly. "We have Potions on Friday - he won't have time to poison us all!"

" _Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble outside the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast._ "

"Only a week away?" Ernie Macmillan says, eyes gleaming, emerging from the crowd. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Better go tell him..."

"Cedric?" Ron says blankly, as Ernie hurries off.

"Diggory," I say. "Must be entering the tournament."

"That idiot, Hogwarts Champion?" Ron snorts as we push past students to get to the marble staircase.

"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch. I've heard he's a really good student - and a prefect." Hermione adds, as though that settled things.

"You only like him because he's handsome," Ron retorts scathingly.

"Excuse me! I do  _not_ only like people because they're handsome!" Hermione denies indignantly.

Ron gives a loud, fake cough that sounds quite like "Lockhart!"

I smile slightly, and shake my head. I truly don't think Cedric Diggory as champion would be too bad... but for Ron's sake, a part of me hopes that he won't end up champion.


	22. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang**

 

The appearance of the sign has a very noticeable effect on the school. During the next week, no matter where I go, people seem to only be talking about one thing: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumours start flying from student to student about things like who's going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tasks include, and how different students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are from us.

The castle also seems to be going through an extra-thorough cleaning. Several particularly grimy portraits have been scrubbed, much to the dismay of the inhabitants, who sit huddled in their frames, muttering darkly and wincing as they feel their raw pink faces. The suits of armour are gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, is behaving so ferociously to students who forget to wipe their shoes that he sent a group of first year girls into hysterics.

Other staff members are oddly tense, too.

"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone at Durmstrang!" McGonagall barks at the end of a difficult lesson, where Neville had accidentally transplanted his ears onto a cactus.

On the morning of October the thirtieth, we walk into the Great Hall to see that it's been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hang from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, is the largest sign of all, bearing the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter 'H'.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit down beside Fred and George, who are, once again, and inexplicably, sitting apart from everyone else and talking in low voices. What're they plotting? First Hermione, now them... seems everyone's secretly plotting things these days...

"It's a bummer, all right," George is saying gloomily, as we approach. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him a letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."

"Who's avoiding you?" Ron asks, sitting down.

"Wish you would," Fred replies, irritated at the interruption.

"What's a bummer?" Ron asks, turning to George.

"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," George replies.

Clearly whatever they're doing is big and important. One: they don't have Lee with them, two: they're deflecting every question Ron's giving them with an insult, and three: when has something ever been so big that they set themselves apart from everyone else?

"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament, yet?" Harry asks. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"

"I tried asking McGonagall how the champions are being chosen but she wasn't telling," George answers bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on transfiguring my raccoon."

"Wonder what the tasks are going to be? You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous things before..." Ron says.

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," Fred says. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points based on how well they've done the tasks."

"Who're the judges?" I wonder aloud.

"Well, the heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," Hermione begins, and we all turn around to stare at her, "because they were all injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."

When she notices everyone staring at her, she ways, with an air of impatience, "It's all in  _Hogwarts, a History._ Thought, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."

"What're you on about?" Ron asks, though I have an idea what...

"House-elves!" Hermione bursts out, her eyes flashing, proving my theory right. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does  _Hogwarts, a History_ mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"

I shake my head slightly, before helping myself to a bit of toast. The lack of enthusiasm from Harry, Ron, and I hasn't done anything to diffuse Hermione's determination to pursue justice for house-elves. While we've all paid two Sickles for a S.P.E.W. badge, we really only did it to shut her up more than anything. Our plan didn't work, though, because it only got her more determined to get us involved; ever since, she's been badgering us to not only wear the badges, but to recruit other people, reminding me every time that it's "part of my job". She also takes to rattling around the Gryffindor common room every evening, cornering people and shaking the collecting tin under people's noses.

"You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslaved," she would say fiercely.

Some people, like Neville, simply paid to stop Hermione glowering at them. Others are mildly interested in the topic, but not enough to actually take action in campaigning. Most people, however, just see it as a big joke. Ron rolls his eyes at the ceiling, which is flooding us all in autumn light, and Fred becomes very interested in his bacon (both Fred and George refused to buy S.P.E.W. badges). George, however, leans in towards Hermione.

"Listen, have you ever been down to the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No," she replies curtly, "I hardly think students are allowed-"

"Well, we have," George interrupts, indicating Fred and I, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world-"

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione retorts hotly, which I think is a bit far, since Dobby is fairly clever, but the rest of her words are drowned out by a whooshing noise above them, announcing the arrival of the post owls.

Hedwig flutters onto Harry's shoulder, and, Hermione, watching anxiously, stops talking abruptly. Hedwig folds her wings, and holds out her leg wearily. Harry pulls off Sirius' reply, and offers Hedwig some bacon rings, which she eats gratefully.

After checking that Fred and George are still deep in conversation about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry reads the letter out in a whisper to Ron, Hermione, and I.

" _Nice try, Harry._

_I'm back in the country and well-hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me, just watch out for yourself._

_Don't forget what I said about your scar._

_Sirius._ "

"Why have you got to keep changing owls?" Ron asks in a low voice.

"Hedwig'll attract too much attention," Hermione replies at once. "She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding... I mean, they're not native birds, are they?"

Harry rolls up the letter, and slips it inside his robes. Well, at least he's well-hidden... Hedwig dips her beak briefly into Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice, before taking off again, clearly looking for a good, long sleep in the Owlery.

There's a pleasant air of anticipation during the day. Nobody's very attentive during lessons, much more interested in the arrivals of the people from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons that evening; even Potions is more bearable than usual, as it ends half an hour earlier. When the bell rings, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I hurry up to Gryffindor Tower, deposit our bags and books as instructed, pull on our cloaks, and hurry downstairs to the Entrance Hall.

The Heads of Houses are ordering their students into lines.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," McGonagall snaps at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati Patil, scowling, removes a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

"Follow me, please," McGonagall says. "First years in front... no pushing..."

We file down the steps and line up in front of the castle. It's a cold, clear evening; dusk is falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon is already shining over the Forbidden Forest.

"Nearly six," Ron says, checking his watch then staring down at the drive that leads to the front gates. "How do you reckon they're coming? The train?"

I remember something Mr. Weasley said at the Quidditch World Cup: "always the same - we can't resist showing off when we get together..." This gives me the suspicion that the people from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang aren't likely to be arriving by train.

"I doubt it," I reply.

"How, then, Broomsticks?" Harry suggests, looking up at the starry sky.

"I don't think so... not from that far away..." Hermione says, shaking her head slightly.

"A Portkey?" Ron suggests. "Or they could Apparate - maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen where they come from?"

"You can't Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?" Hermione says impatiently.

We all scan the grounds excitedly, but everything is quiet, and still as usual. I wish they'd hurry up and get here, already, I'm starting to get cold... admittedly, I am interested to see how they'll be arriving, though...

And then Dumbledore calls out from the back row, where he's standing with the other teachers, "Aha! Unless I'm very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" several students call out eagerly, all looking in different directions.

"There!" a sixth year shouts, pointing over the forest.

Something much larger than a broomstick - or even a hundred broomsticks - is hurtling across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" one of the first years shriek, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid... it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey says patronizingly.

Dennis' guess turns out to be closer. As the gigantic black shape skims over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the light shining from the castle hits it, we see a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring through the air, pulled by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.

The front three rows of students draw backwards as the carriage hurtles lower, coming in to land at an amazing speed - with an almighty crash that makes Neville jump and stand on a Slytherin fifth year's foot, the horse's hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage lands as well, bouncing on its vast wheels, while the horses toss their enormous heads, and roll their large, fiery red eyes.

I just have time to notice what must be the Beauxbatons coat of arms on the door, before its opened by a boy in pale blue robes. He bends forward, fumbling with something on the carriage floor, and unfolds a set of golden steps. He jumps back respectfully. Then, I see a shining, black high-heeled shoe emerging from inside of the carriage - a show the size of a child's sled - which is followed by the largest woman I've ever seen in my life.

The size of the carriages, and the horses immediately make sense. A few people gasp. The only person I've ever seen who's as large as this woman would be Hagrid; I doubt there's an inch difference in their heights. But somehow - maybe it's because I'm just used to Hagrid, at this point - this in their heights. But somehow - maybe it's because I'm just used to Hagrid, at this point - this woman(now at the foot of the steps and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) looks even more unnaturally large.

As she steps into the light flooding the Entrance Hall, she's revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair is drawn back into a shiny knob at the base of her neck. She's dressed from head to toe in black satin, with many opals gleam from her throat and her thick fingers.

Dumbledore starts to clap, and the students eventually follow his lead, some of them even standing on their tiptoes, the better to look at the woman. Her face relaxes into a gracious smile and she walks forward towards Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though very tall himself, barely has to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madame Maxime," he says. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dort," Madame Maxime says in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you," replies Dumbledore.

"My pupils," Madam Maxime adds, waving a careless hand behind her towards the carriages.

My attention goes from Madame Maxime to the dozen or so students, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, who've emerged from the carriage and are now standing behind Madam Maxime. They're all shivering, which doesn't surprise me, since their robes seem to be made of fine silk, and they're not wearing cloaks. From what I can see of them(they're standing in Madam Maxime's huge shadow), they're looking up at the enormous castle apprehensively.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asks.

"He should be here any moment," Dumbledore replies. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," Madame Maxime says. "But ze 'orses-"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures professor will be delighted to take care of them," Dumbledore says, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has appeared from some of his other - er - charges."

"Skrewts," Ron whispers, grinning.

"My steeds require - er - forceful handling," Madam Maxime states, looking as though she thought no Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong..."

"I assure that Hagrid will be well up to the job," Dumbledore says, smiling.

"Very well," Madame Maxime says, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

What kind of horses only drink whiskey?

"It will be attended to," Dumbledore says, also bowing.

"Come," Madame Maxime says imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd part to let her and her students pass up the stone steps.

"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Seamus asks, leaning around Parvati and Lavender to talk to us.

"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," Harry replies. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by the Skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?"

"Maybe they've escaped," Ron suggests hopefully.

"Oh, don't say that," Hermione says with a shudder. "Imagine that lot loose on the grounds."

Now shivering slightly, we wait for the Durmstrang party. Most people are gazing hopefully at the sky. For a few moments, it's silent except Madame Maxime's horses  snorting and stamping.

"Can you hear something?" Ron says suddenly.

I strain my ears; a loud and oddly eerie noise is drifting towards us from out of the darkness: a muffled rumbling and sucking noise, as though a huge vacuum cleaner is moving along the riverbed.

"The lake!" Lee yells, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

From our position at the top of the lawns over looking the grounds, we have a clear view of the smooth black view of the water - except the surface is no longer smooth. Some disturbance is taking place deep in the centre; huge bubbles are forming on the surface, waves are washing on the muddy banks - and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appears, as if a giant plug has just been pulled on the lake's floor. What seems like a long, black pole emerges out of the whirlpool... until I see the rigging...

"It's a mast!" Harry announces.

Slowly, brilliantly, the ship rises out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. There's a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it's a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty portholes look like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a sloshing noise, the ship emerges entirely, and begins to glide towards the bank. A few moments later, we can hear the splash of an anchor being dropped, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People start disembarking; I can see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them seem to be built along the same lines as Crabbe and Goyle... but as they draw nearer, I realize that the bulk is actually due to the fact that their cloaks are made out of some sort of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who's leading the group is wearing a different type of fur; sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore!" he calls heartily as he walks up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replies.

Professor Karkaroff has a fruity, unctuous voice; when he steps into the light pouring from the castle, we see that he's tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his hair is white and short, and his goatee(finishing in a small curl) does not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reaches Dumbledore, he shakes his hand with both of his own.

"Dear old Hogwarts," he says, looking up and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and I notice that the smile doesn't extend to his eyes, which remain cold and shrewd, ruining the whole friendly image. "How good it is to be here, how good... Viktor, come along, into the warmth... you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold..."

Karkaroff beckons one of his students forward. As the boy passes, I catch a glimpse of the prominent curved nose, and the thick black eyebrows. I don't need Ron's hissing, or any of the excited talking behind me to know who that is.

"It's Krum!" Ron finally gets out.

"I don't believe it," Ron says, stunned, as the Hogwarts students file back inside after the Durmstrang party. "Krum, Harry!  _Viktor Krum_!"

"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player," Hermione says, exasperated.

" _Only a Quidditch player_?" Ron repeats, staring at Hermione, unable to believe his ears. "Hermione - he's one of the best players in the world! I had no idea he was still in school!"

We take our seats at the Gryffindor table. The Beauxbatons have sat themselves at the Ravenclaw table, whilst the Durmstrang students are sat at the Slytherin table. Viktor Krum is sitting with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, something they're very smug about, and something Ron's very angry about. Filch adds four chairs to the teachers' table, yet there are only two extra people - Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff. Why is Filch adding those extra two chairs?

"Good evening ladies, gentleman, ghosts, and - most importantly - guests," Dumbledore begins, beaming around at all the students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The Tournament will officially be opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

He sits back down, and Karkaroff immediately leans forward and engages him in conversation.

The plates fill themselves with food as usual. The house-elves seem to have gone above and beyond, including foreign dishes. Ron questions a dish of what looks like shellfish stew, which Hermione calls "Bouillabaisse", before helping himself to black pudding.

"Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

It's a girl fro Beauxbatons who hadn't removed her muffler until now. She has a long sheet of silvery hair that almost falls to her waist. She has large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth. Ron goes purple. He stares up at her, mouth open to reply, but nothing comes up but a faint gurgling noise. I fight to keep a straight face at this.

"Yeah, have it," Harry says, pushing the dish towards the girl, and helping Ron out.

"You 'ave finished wiz it?"

"Yeah," Ron replies breathlessly. "Yeah, it was excellent."

The girl picks up the dish and carries it carefully towards the Ravenclaw table. Ron continues to goggle at her as though he'd never seen a girl before. Harry and I start to laugh, which seems to bring Ron back to his senses.

"That's a Veela!" he says hoarsely.

"Of course she isn't," Hermione says tartly. "I don't see anyone else gaping at her like an idiot!"

But she isn't very right, there. As the girl crosses the Hall, many boys' heads turned, and, just like Ron, some of them seem to become temporarily speechless.

"I'm telling you, that's not a normal girl!" Ron insists, leaning forward to get a better look at her. "They don't make them like that at Hogwarts!"

"They make them okay at Hogwarts," Harry says.

"When you've both put your eyes back in," Hermione says briskly, "you'll see who's just arrived."

She points up at the staff table. The two empty seats have just been filled. Ludo Bagman is now sitting at Karkaroff's other side, and Barty Crouch is now sitting beside Madame Maxime.

"What are they doing here?" I ask in surprise.

"They organized the Triwizard Tournament, didn't they?" Hermione points out. "I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start."

Once the golden plates are wiped clean, Dumbledore stands up once more. A pleasant sort of tension fills the Great Hall. I feel a thrill of excitement, wondering what's coming. I notice Fred and George, leaning forwards, looking at Dumbledore with great concentration.

"The moment has come," Dumbledore begins, smiling around at the sea of faces. "The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring the casket-"

"The what?" Harry mutters, and Ron shrugs.

"-just to clarify the procedure we'll be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation" -there's a bit of polite applause at that- "and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

There's much louder applause for Ludo Bagman, perhaps because of his past as a Beater, or maybe just because he just looks like a more likeable person. Bagman acknowledges the applause with a jovial wave of his hand. Crouch, however, didn't smile or wave when his name was announced. Remembering him in his neat suit at the Quidditch World Cup, he actually looks really weird in wizard's robes. To me, anyway. His toothbrush moustache and severe part looks really strange next to Dumbledore's long white hair and beard, too.

"Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continues, "and they will be judging myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions' efforts."

At the word 'champions' the attentiveness in the room seems to sharpen.

Maybe Dumbledore notices the sudden stillness, for he smiles and says, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking in a far corner of the Great Hall, now approaches Dumbledore, carrying a great wooden chest, encrusted with jewels. It looks extremely old. A murmur of excitement rises throughout the Great Hall; Dennis Creevey actually stands up to get a better look, but as he's so short, it doesn't make much difference.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," Dumbledore explains, as Filch places the chest carefully in the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champion in many different ways... their magical prowess - their daring - their powers of deduction - and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this, the silence in the Great Hall is so absolute that it seems like nobody's breathing.

"As you know, three champions will compete in the Tournament," Dumbledore continues calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the tasks, and the champion with the highest total score after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector... the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now takes out his wand, and taps it three times on the top of the casket. The lid slowly creaks open. Dumbledore reaches inside, and pulls out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup that's entirely remarkable except for the fact that it's full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames. Dumbledore closes the casket, and places the Goblet carefully on top of it, so that it's clearly visible to everyone in the Great Hall.

"Anybody who wishes to enter must simply write their name and school clearly on a piece of parchment, and drop it into the goblet," Dumbledore explains. "Aspiring champions will have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the Goblet will return the manes of the three most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name in the Goblet of Fire. Now I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all."

"An Age Line!" Fred says, his eyes glinting, as we all make our way across the Hall to the doors to the Entrance Hall. "Well, that should be fooled by an Ageing Potion, shouldn't it? And once your name's in the Goblet, you're laughing - it can't tell whether you're seventeen or not!"

"I still don't think Dumbledore's going to be fooled by an Ageing Potion," I insist. "He'll have thought of a way around it."

"Besides, I don't think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance," Hermione adds, "we just haven't learned enough..."

"Speak for yourself," George says shortly. "You'll try and get in, won't you, Harry?"

Harry doesn't, and looking over at him, I see that he looks rather thoughtful, as though considering it. Oh, God, please tell me Harry isn't insane enough to try and enter, too!

"Where is he?" Ron says, who is clearly not paying attention to the conversation, and is looking around for Krum instead. "Dumbledore didn't say where the Durmstrang people are sleeping, did he?"

This question gets answered immediately, for, as we reach level with the Slytherin table, and Karkaroff bustles up towards it students.

"Back to the ship, then," he says. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Krum shakes his head as he pulls his furs back on.

"Professor,  _I_ vood like some vine," one of the Durmstrang boys says hopefully.

"I wasn't offering it to  _you_ , Poliakoff," Karkaroff snaps, his warm paternal behaviour vanishing immediately. "I noticed you've dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy-"

Karkaroff turns and leads his students towards the doors, reaching them exactly the same moment as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and I. Harry stops to let them walk through first.

"Thank you," Karkaroff says carelessly, glancing at him.

And then he freezes. He turns his head back, and stares at him as though he can't believe his eyes. The students come to a halt, as well. Karkaroff's eyes slowly move up Harry's face, to his scar. The Durmstrang students are staring at Harry curiously, too. I notice comprehension dawning on some of their faces. The boy with food down his front nudges the girl in front of him and points openly at Harry's forehead. Really?

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," a growling voice says from behind us.

Professor Karkaroff spins around, and Professor Moody is standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang Headmaster. The colour drains from Karkaroff's face, and a terrible look of mingled fury and fear crosses his face.

"You!" he says, staring at Moody as though unsure as to whether or not Moody is truly here.

"Me," Moody agrees grimly. "And unless you've got something to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

Which is very true; half the students in the Hall are waiting behind us, looking over people's shoulders to see what's causing the hold-up. Without another word, Karkaroff sweeps his students away with him.

Moody watches him out of sight, his magical eye fixed on his back, and a look of intense dislike on his mutilated face. What's that all about? He seems to really hate Karkaroff... then again, it's probably nothing... Moody seems to dislike a lot of people, it's probably no big deal...


	23. The Owlery

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Owlery**

 

Early, the next morning, I decided to send my latest letter to Remus, which has been sitting on top of my trunk for ages, waiting to be sent. Once in the Owlery, I find Midnight's black feathers quite easily among the grey and brown.

"Midnight," I call gently, unable to reach him. "Midnight, come down here, I've got a job for you."

There's a rustling noise, and Midnight soars down to rest himself on my shoulder, hotting softly.

"Were you sleeping?" I ask idly, not really wanting to find out the answer, but the hoot of indignation tells me he was. "Sorry, then."

I tie the letter to Remus onto his leg carefully, and say, "That goes to Remus, all right?"

Midnight lets out a hoot indicating he understands, flies off my shoulder, and soars out the window. I move forward to the window to watch him fly away. I continue to watch as Midnight becomes a tiny black spec, then becomes out of sight completely. I move away from the window, and exit the Owlery, feeling very hungry, and excited to watch people enter their names in the Goblet of Fire.

Were Fred and George really going to try and enter themselves? Well, that's obvious, of course they are. But using something like an Ageing Potion... it can't work, Dumbledore's bound to have thought of it...

At the bottom of the staircase, I bump into someone, knocking us both over. My head crashes into the bottom step, and for a moment, I see stars.

"Holy fuck!" I curse under my breath, sitting up and rubbing the back of my head.

Besides the immediate pain, I don't think any damage has been done. Staggering to my feet, I find the person I bumped into has gotten to their feet as well. It's Jace. A friendly smile spreads across my face at the pleasant sight.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I joke, grinning, though this is perfectly true; we've bumped into each other three other times, which has introduced him to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Jace laughs, nodding in agreement, before saying, "Or else we'll both end up in the hospital wing."

"Wouldn't that be fun?" I say sarcastically, laughing a little. "So, are you delivering a letter?"

"A package, actually," Jace says, and for the first time I notice the parcel in his hand. "It's my mum's birthday tomorrow, you see."

"What did you get her?" I ask eagerly, as we walk up the steps together.

"I got her a watch she had her eyes on when we were at Diagon Alley," he replies.

"What does it look like?" I ask.

"It's silver, and it's got silver diamonds or whatever they are bordering the bit with the actual little clock," Jace answers.

"That sounds nice," I comment, smiling.

"Hopefully she hasn't bought it for herself already, though," Jace says, frowning slightly, as he ties the parcel to the leg of one of the school owls. "Dad said she didn't when I wrote to ask him, but she could be out buying it today, couldn't she?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," I reassure him, as the owl flies out of the window.

We watch as the owl disappears out of sight. There's a long pause, before I finally speak again.

"We should probably head down for breakfast," I point out.

"Right," he agrees, and we walk down the stairs, and through the corridors.

As we turn a corner, me laughing particularly hard at a story Jace just told me, we find ourselves face to face with Fred and George. My smile widens at the sight of the two of them.

"Hey!" I greet cheerfully, waving.

Fred and George smile at me, but then look questioningly at Jace, who looks rather awkward. I feel very confused about this, until I remember that they've never met.

"Oh - Right!" I say, giving myself a little shake. "Jace, this is Fred and George Weasley. Fred and George - Jace Landon."

I indicate to each of them. George gives Jace a friendly smile, and shakes his hand. Fred follows suit, but something about his smile seems a little less genuine. What's up with him?

"I've got to go to the Ravenclaw common room for a moment," Jace says after a moment, looking as though he's just remembering something. "I'll talk to you later. It was nice meeting you lot."

"See you later," I say, waving and watching him leave.

Once Jace is out of sight, I turn back to them.

"He seems like a complete duffer," Fred says immediately.

"Fred!" I reprimanded, frowning at him and crossing my arms. "You hardly know him."

"And you do?" Fred retorts doubtfully.

"Well - no," I admit. "But I know him better than you do!"

"Then you should know he's a stupid little git," Fred says matter-of-factly.

"Why have you got such a problem with him?" I ask, baffled at his attitude. "George got on perfectly fine with him, didn't you, George."

"Wha - yeah, he seems all right to me," George says, looking shocked and rather uncomfortable at being brought into the conversation.

"See? See!" I say triumphantly, gesturing over to George, before crossing my arms once more and glaring at Fred. "You've got no reason to be saying these things about Jace! You're just being unfair!"

"Am not!" Fred protests, frowning.

"Oh, yeah? Really? So you're saying that meeting someone and talking to them for five minutes then going off and calling them a git, when in fact they acted lie a really nice, funny person, isn't unfair?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, it's not my fault you pick rubbish people to be your friends," Fred shrugs.

"Oh, yeah, I do, don't I? That's why I'm friends with you, isn't it?" I retort angrily.

"Woah, why don't we all just calm down, all right?" George interrupts, as Fred opens his mouth angrily to say something. "Fred, come on, we've got to add the finishing touches to the potion, remember?"

"Right," Fred says, glaring down at me, and I return it just as fiercely. "Yeah, all right. Let's go, then."

Shaking my head and scoffing at Fred, I storm down the corridor past them. Swearing violently under my breath, I think of the conversation I just had. How dare he? He hardly knows Jace and he goes off and calls him a git. What's up with him? Fred isn't normally like this...

 

**_*Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*_ **

 

"Thanks for the backup, by the way," Fred hissed at his twin brother, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, mate," George shrugged, looking guilty. "What was up with you, though. You gotta admit, that Jace bloke doesn't seem that bad."

Fred glared at his twin for a moment, before sighing. "I know he's not that bad. But that's the problem. Do you reckon that's who Hazel likes?"

"So that's it?" George asked, eyes widening. "You're jealous?"

"Jealous? I'm not jealous, I'm just wondering," Fred said, avoiding George's gaze and pretending to be particularly busy with the potion.

"C'mon, Fred," George said disbelievingly.

"All right, so maybe I'm a little jealous," Fred shrugged. "But do you reckon that's who she fancies?"

"I dunno," George shrugged, but then decided to be a little helpful added, "I don't think so. She said she didn't know him very well, just better than you did."

Fred relaxed slightly, but was still slightly worried. What if Hazel  _did_ like Jace? It would be good to finally know who she likes, but would he be able-

They were interrupted by Lee Jordan bursting into the room. Fred, who had been opening his mouth to say something, quickly closes it again. He still hadn't told Lee about him liking Hazel, and he wasn't quite sure how to go about telling him. Lee looked from Fred and George, frowning slightly.

"What's up?" he asked, sitting down.

"Nothing," Fred shrugged, chancing a smile.

"C'mon, Fred, what's going on?" Lee pursued.

Fred and George exchanged looks, then Fred gestured for George to tell him.

"Fred's all moony over Hazel, and we saw her with this bloke, and Fred got all jealous so Fred and Hazel got in a bit of a fight, and now we're wondering if Hazel likes said bloke," George explained.

"Not how I would've put it," Fred said, "but I suppose that's the gist."

"You like Hazel?" Lee asked, looking incredulous.

"Or as George so widely stated, I'm 'all moony over her'," Fred said, grinning.

Lee still look incredulous, apparently finding it really hard to believe it.

"Is it that hard to believe?" Fred asked, laughing at Lee's expression.

"Oh - well, yeah, kind of," Lee admitted. "Especially since when you and Hazel were pretending to go out, you said, and I quote, 'I can't believe people even think we're dating. I'd rather date the Giant Squid than date Hazel. It'd be like dating Ginny'."

George laughed, and even Fred grinned.

"I was young and foolish," Fred said, in a good imitation of Percy.

"Well, young and foolish, you're about to get a little older," George announced. "The potion's ready."

"Really?" Lee asked excitedly, and when George nodded, he said, "Brilliant!"

"Well, we're all nearly seventeen, we'll probably only need one drop," Fred said, taking his portion carefully.

Once George and Lee had also taken theirs, George took out a piece of parchment, and ripped it into three smaller pieces. They each wrote their name and 'Hogwarts' carefully onto the parchment, and slipped it into their pockets.

"All right, let's go enter, then," George said, looking extremely excited.

 

**_*Back to Hazel's Point of View, First Person*_ **

 

I storm through the corridors, cursing Fred's name angrily, until I see the back's of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Hey!" I call, running forwards until I catch up with them.

"Where were you?" Hermione asks curiously.

"I was in the Owlery," I explain. "I went to send Remus a letter."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asks, looking at me carefully.

"Fine," I lie, not meeting her eyes.

When we enter the Entrance Hall, we see about twenty people inside, some of them munching on some toast, all of them examining the Goblet of Fire. It's been placed in the centre of the Hall on the stool that normally bears the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line has been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction. That'll be the Age Line.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Ron asks a third year girl eagerly.

"All the Durmstrang lot," she replies. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet."

"Bet some of them put it in last night after we'd all gone to bed," Harry pipes up. "I would've done it if it'd been me... wouldn't have wanted everyone watching. What if the Goblet just gobbled you right back up again?"

Someone laughs behind me. Turning, we see Fred, George, and Lee hurrying down the marble staircase, looking extremely excited. So, I suppose they're done the Ageing Potion... The sight of Fred makes anger bubble up inside of me, but I just look anywhere in the room except for him,

"Done it," Fred says in a triumphant whisper. "Just taken it."

"What?" Ron asks.

"The Ageing Potion, dungbrains," Fred says.

"One drop each," George explains, rubbing his hands together with glee. "We only need to be a few months older."

"We're going to split the thousand Galleons between the three of us if one of us wins," Lee informs us, grinning broadly.

"I'm not sure this is going to work, you know," Hermione says warningly. "Dumbledore will have thought of this."

They ignore her. I want to warn them that this is probably not going to work, but the thought of Fred makes me so mad that I stay defiantly silent, and continue to refuse to look at him. But when Fred walks up to the very edge of the line, rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop, holding a piece of parchment that bears the words "Fred Weasley - Hogwarts", I have to look to see if it's going to work. Then, with the eyes of every person in the Entrance Hall on him, he takes a deep breath and steps over the line.

For a split second, I think that it worked. George certainly thinks so, for he lets out a yell of triumph, before leaping into the line after Fred. But then - there's a loud sizzling sound, and both of them are hurtled out of the circle as though thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They land painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to their injury, there's a loud popping noise, and both of them sprout identical long white beards. There's a pause, and then everyone in the Entrance Hall bursts out laughing. Even they start to laugh when they get a good look at each other.

"I did warn you," a deep, amused voice says, and everyone turns to see Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. He surveys Fred and George, eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a bit, as well. Though, I must say, neither of their beards are anything as fine as yours."

Fred and George set off for the Hospital Wing, accompanied by Lee, who's positively howling with laughter. Smart move, on his part, not jumping in immediately like George did. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, also chortling, enter the Great Hall for breakfast, me in a way better wood.


	24. The Goblet of Fire

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Goblet of Fire**

 

Still chuckling appreciatively at the sight of Fred and George with beards, we enter the Great Hall. The decorations have changed. As it's Halloween, dark clouds live bats flutter from the ceiling, making the candles stutter, and hundreds of carved pumpkins leer from every corner.

"So, that's it, then?" Hermione asks me in an undertone. "You're mad at Fred? Or is it George? Lee? Or are you just mad at all of them?"

"What?" I say, pretending to be clueless. "What d'you mean? I'm not mad at any of them..."

"Oh, please, Hazel," she whispers, looking at me in disbelief. "You wouldn't look at Fred, until he went to enter his name."

I looked down at my feet as Harry leads the way over to it next to Dean and Seamus, Sighing a bit, I look back up at Hermione, and shrug slightly.

"All right, Fred and I got into a fight," I admit, my voice low, not wanting Harry and Ron to hear.

I'm not quite sure why I don't want them to hear, but this is sort of the thing I only want Hermione to now. As though this is a secret that only a select few can know, and Harry and Ron aren't close enough to know. All the same, I'm perfectly aware that Harry and Ron are going to find out soon enough - unless, of course, Fred realizes he was acting like a complete prat and apologizes. In that case, the fight will soon be forgotten and there'd be no need for it to ever be brought up again, unless somehow mentioned in casual conversation.

"What happened?" Hermione asks me, looking curious, but respectfully sympathetic.

"I'll explain later," I whisper, for I have the funny feeling that if I start talking about what happened, I'll go into an angry rant about Fred, and I won't be able to keep my voice down to a whisper.

Hermione nods in understanding, shooting me a reassuring smile, even though she hasn't got a clue what happened. I'm grateful for how supportive and understanding she's being, though not as grateful as I'd normally be, since the thought of Fred and our last conversation makes anger and annoyance surge through me.

"There's a rumour going around, Warrington got up early and put his name in," Dean says, as we take our seats. "That big bloke from Slytherin that looks like a sloth."

My anger immediately turns into disgust. Oh God, he can't be the Hogwarts champion.

"Warrington won't become champion," I pipe up, and the more I think about it, the more confident I become. "The only thing he's got going for him is his strength. I've seen more talent in an actual sloth, and he's thicker than one, too."

They laugh appreciatively at my comment, and Ron, who had look horror-struck at the mere idea of Warrington as Hogwarts champion moments before, relaxes.

"All the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory, too," Seamus adds, after his laughter subsides, and now he looks contemptuous. "But I wouldn't have thought he'd have wanted to risk his good looks."

The way guys talk about him, you'd think he'd be extremely full of himself, looking at his reflection all the time. Sure, he's a really handsome bloke, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's like that, right? Personally, from what I've seen of Cedric, he seems all right...

"Listen!" Hermione says sharply and suddenly.

People out in the Entrance Hall are cheering loudly. We all swivel around in our seats, and Angelina Johnson enters the Great Hall, grinning in an embarrassed way. Angelina comes over to join us, sits down, and the excitement on her face grows as she grins at us.

"Well, I've done it! Just put my name in!"

"You're kidding!" Ron says, looking very impressed.

"Are you seventeen, then?" Harry asks.

"Course she is. Can't see a beard, can you?" Ron laughs.

"I had my birthday last week," Angelina informs us.

"That's lucky," I comment. "Imagine if your birthday was just a couple days later... anyway, I really hope you get it, Angelina!"

"Yeah, I'm really glad someone from Gryffindor is entering," Hermione agrees excitedly.

"Thanks, you two," Angelina says, smiling appreciatively at us.

"I agree, better you than pretty-boy Diggory," Seamus adds, earning him some deadly glares from passing Hufflepuffs.

"What're we going to do today, then?" Ron asks Harry, Hermione and I, as we finish our breakfast and head out the Great Hall.

"We haven't been to see Hagrid yet," Harry points out.

"Okay," Ron says, nodding, "just as long as Hagrid doesn't ask us to donate our fingers to the Skrewts."

"I've just realized - I haven't asked Hagrid to join S.P.E.W. yet!" she exclaims, a look of extreme excitement suddenly dawning on her face. "Wait for me, will you, while I nip upstairs and get the badges?"

"What is it with her?" Ron asks, exasperated as Hermione hurries up the marble staircase.

"She's just... dedicated to the cause, is all," I say, feeling both amused and exasperated at Hermione's behaviour, but picking my words carefully so nothing comes out badly.

"Dedicated is one thing," Ron snorts, "insane is another."

"Well, I mean, she's got a point, asking Hagrid to join, though," I point out. "Hagrid'll probably want to join... I mean, I suppose he'll be all for equality for non-humans and everything, since he loves magical creatures and all..."

"Hey, Ron," Harry says suddenly, "it's your friend..."

The Beauxbatons students enter into the Entrance Hall, among them, the Veela girl - or at least, the girl Ron  _claims_ to be a Veela. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stand back to let them pass, watching eagerly.

Madame Maxime enters after her students, and organizes them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students step across the Age-Line and drop their slip of parchment into the Goblet of Fire's blue-white flames. As each slip of parchment flutters out of sight into the Goblet, the fire briefly turns red and emits sparks.

"What d'you reckon'll happen to the ones that aren't chosen," Ron mutters to us, as the so-called Veela girl drops her parchment into the Goblet. "Reckon they'll go back to school, or stick around to watch the Tournament?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugs. "Stick around, I suppose... Madame Maxime's staying, isn't she?"

"I wonder what's going on back at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?" I say thoughtfully, watching the door in which the Beauxbatons students and Madame Maxime have disappeared moments before. However, before Harry and Ron can make any other comment, I continue, "I suppose the Deputy Head would be in charge... you know, like McGonagall would be in charge here if the Tournament was being held at one of the other schools..."

When all of the Beauxbatons students have entered their names, Madame Maxime leads them out of the Hall and back into the grounds.

"Where are  _they_ sleeping, then?" Ron wonders aloud, moving towards the front doors and starting after them.

"Probably in that carriage they came with, since the Durmstrang lot are sleeping in their ship," I point out. I pause for a moment, then add, a smile tugging at my lips, "and it'd be significantly more creepy if you gave up your bed for that Veela girl, by the way."

Harry lets out a laugh. Ron glares at me, and opens his mouth to say something, but the rattling noise behind us signifies Hermione's reappearance with the S.P.E.W. badges.

"Oh, good, hurry up," Ron says, jumping down the stone steps, keeping his eyes on the back of the Veela girl, who's now halfway across the lawn with Madame Maxime and the other students. I let out a laugh; and I thought I acted awkward and embarrassing in front of the people I like! What I'm like is nothing compared to Ron...

As we draw nearer to Hagrid's cabin, the mystery of where the Beauxbatons students and Madame Maxime are staying is solved, proving my theory to be right. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they arrived in is parked around two hundred yards away from Hagrid's front door, and the students are climbing back inside it. The enormous flying horses that had been pulling the carriages are now grazing peacefully in a makeshift paddock alongside it.

Harry knocks on Hagrid's door, which is instantly, and as usual, answered by Fang's loud, booming barks.

"'Bout time!" Hagrid says as greeting, after flinging open the door and seeing who it is. "Thought you lot'd forgotten where I live!"

"We've been really busy, Hag-" Hermione begins, but then stops dead, looking Hagrid, seeming to be lost for words.

It becomes apparent to me very quickly as Hagrid's appearance registers in my mind. Hagrid is wearing his best - and by best, I mean very horrible - hairy brown suit, with a checked yellow-and-orange tie. It becomes clear to me that this isn't the worst of it when I take in Hagrid's hair. Apparently, he had tried to tame it, and he seems to have used a large amount of axel grease. Instead of the usual wild tangle, it's slicked into two bunches - perhaps he had tired to put his hair into a ponytail, like Bill does, but found that he had too much hair. The look doesn't suit Hagrid at all. Trying really hard not to make it obvious that I'm that I'm staring horrified, at his appearance, I privately wish that he'd change into his normal clothes, and get rid of all the grease.

For a moment, Hermione just continues to goggle at him. Finally, deciding not to comment, she says, "Erm - where are the Skrewts?"

I resent her a bit for her excuse, worried that Hagrid'll show us the Skrewts. I don't want to deal with those things more than I absolutely have to.

"Out by the pumpkin patch," Hagrid replies happily. "They're gettin' massive, mus' be nearly three feet long now."

My heart drops right down to the region of my stomach at that. They were bad enough when they were small...

"On'y problem is, they've started killin' each other," Hagrid continues, and I feel very relieved.

"Oh, no, really?" Hermione says, shooting a repressive look at Ron, who has been staring at Hagrid's hairstyle, and had opened his mouth to say something about it.

"Yeah," Hagrid says sadly. "S'OK, though, I've got 'em in separate boxes now. Still got abou' twenty."

 _oh, yay..._ , I thought.

"Well, that's lucky," Ron says, and Hagrid misses the sarcasm in his voice completely.

We sit down at the table, as Hagrid makes us a cup of tea. Soon, we find ourselves immersed in even more conversation about the Triwizard Tournament.

"You wait," Hagrid tells us, grinning broadly. "You jus' wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh've never seen before. First task... ah, but I'm not supposed ter say..."

As we sip our tea, we try to persuade Hagrid into telling us what he knows about the first task, but he refuses to tell us anything. We end up having lunch with Hagrid, though we don't eat much. After Hermione discovers a talon in what Hagrid claimed to be beef casserole, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I lose our appetites. Besides, we've got the Halloween feast soon.

Instead of eating, we enjoy ourselves by trying to get Hagrid to tell us what the tasks in the Tournament are going to be; speculating which of the Hogwarts entrants are going to be champion, and wondering whether Fred and George are beardless yet. At the mention of Fred's name, Hermione catches my eye for a second, and I shake my head so slightly that I'm quite certain that the action very nearly went unnoticed by Hermione, and that the action went unnoticed by Harry, Ron, and Hagrid. Now is not the time to be thinking bitterly of Fred, I'm in a good mood, and enjoying myself, and I don't want to wind myself up by thinking about Fred and his ridiculous behaviour.

Light rain starts to fall by around mid-day. It's a very cosy feeling, sitting by the fire, listening to the gently patter of raindrops, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves - for, contrary to what I thought he'd do, he had flatly refused to join S.P.E.W. when she had showed him the badges,

"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," Hagrid says gravely. "It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin' 'em unhappy by trying to take away their work, an' insultin' 'em if yeh tried to pay 'em."

"But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!" Hermione argues. " _And_ we heard he's asking for wages now!"

"Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I'm not sayin' there isn't the odd elf who's take freedom, but yeh'll never persuade most of 'em ter do it - no, nothing' doin', Hermione."

Hermione looks extremely cross as she shoves the box of badges into her cloak pocket.

"See, even Hagrid doesn't want to join spew," Ron whispers to me.

"I thought he would," I reply, shrugging, though I am genuinely shocked by it.

By half past five, it's already growing dark, and Harry, Ron, Hermione and I decide that it's time to head back to the castle for the feast - and, more importantly, the selection of the champions.

"I'll come up with yeh," Hagrid says, putting away his darning. "Jus' give us a sec."

Hagrid gets up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed, and begins searching for something inside it. We don't pay too much attention to Hagrid, talking excitedly about who we think'll be chosen once more, until a truly horrible scent reaches our noses.

"Hagrid, what's that?" Ron asks, coughing.

"Eh?" Hagrid says, turning around, and holding a large bottle. "Don't yeh like it?"

"Is that aftershave?" Hermione asks, in a choked voice.

"Er - eau-de-Cologne," Hagrid replies, blushing. Actually  _blushing_. Gruffly, he adds. "Maybe it's a bit much. I'll go take it off, hang on..."

He stumps out of the cabin, and, looking out of the window, we can see him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside.

"Eau-de-Cologne?" Hermione says in amazement. " _Hagrid_?"

"And what's with the hair and suit?" Harry adds in an undertone.

"Look!" Ron says suddenly, pointing out the window.

Hagrid has just straightened up and turned around. If he was blushing before, that's nothing compared to now. Getting to our feet cautiously, so that Hagrid doesn't see us, we peer through the window and see that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students have just emerged from the carriage, clearly about to embark for the feast as well. None of us can hear what Hagrid's saying, but he's talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression that I've only seen him wear one other time - when he had been looking at his former baby dragon, Norbet.

"He's going up to the castle with her!" Hermione says indignantly. "I thought he was waiting for us?"

Without even a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid continues to trudge off up the grounds with Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides.

"He fancies her!" I exclaim, incredulous. "Can you believe it? Hagrid actually  _fancies_ Madame Maxime!"

"Well, if they end up having children, they'll be setting a world record - bet any baby of their would weight about a ton."

We let ourselves out of the cabin and close the door behind us. It's surprisingly dark outside, considering the time. Drawing our cloaks closer to ourselves, we set off up the sloping lawns.

"Oooh, it's them, look!" Hermione whispers.

The Durmstrang lot are walking up towards the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum is walking side by side with Karkaroff, while the other students are straggling along behind them. I shake my head; Karkaroff's blatant favouritism for Krum is worse than Snape's blatant favouritism for Slytherins. Ron watches Krum eagerly, but Krum doesn't look around as he reaches the doors a little ahead of us, and proceeds through them.

"You know what, Ron? I reckon Ginny's right," I say. "You're in love."

"Shut up, Hazel," Ron says, embarrassed, making the rest of us laugh.

When we enter the candlelit Great Hall, it's almost full. The Goblet of Fire has been moved to the front of Dumbledore's empty chair at the teachers' table. We take our seats, and by pure misfortune, I find myself to be sitting across from Fred. I look away quickly, down at my empty golden plate. George is sitting beside him, and they're both clean-shaved once more.

"Hope it's Angelina," Fred says to us.

Clearly, they're taking their failure quite well.

"So do I!" Hermione says breathlessly. "Well, we'll know soon."

The Halloween feast seems to take a lot longer than usual. Perhaps it's because it's the second feast in a row, so the extravagantly prepared food isn't as special and amazing as it usually is during feasts, or maybe it's because I'm so excited for the champion selection I don't really care about the food, just who'll be chosen. Or perhaps it's because of the discomfort of having to participate in the conversation going without looking at Fred, who's right across from me. The result of this is that I don't talk much. Hermione notices what's going on, and gives me a sympathetic look.

I hate this. Why do I have to feel awkward and uncomfortable, trying not to look at him? Is this even bothering him as much as it's bothering me? Is he feeling anything that I am right now? Does he even care? Well, since he's talking and laughing just as he normally does, I assume he doesn't... and that isn't fair! How come I'm the only one who has to be awkward and uncomfortable, when it's his fault we're even in this fight? And why the  _hell_ was Fred even so bothered by Jace?

At long last, the golden plates clear themselves to their original spotless state; there's a sharp upswing in the level of noise in the Hall, which dies away almost as instantly as Dumbledore gets to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime look just as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman winks and beams at several students, whereas Mr. Crouch looks quite uninterested, almost bored.

"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," Dumbledore announces. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber-" he indicates to a door behind the staff table- "where they will receive their first instructions."

Ha takes out his wand, and with a great sweeping wave, all the candles except for the ones inside the pumpkins go out, plunging the room into semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shines brighter than anything in the room, the sparking bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on my eyes. Everyone watches, waiting... a few keep checking their watches.

"Any second now," Lee Jordan whispers.

The flames of the Goblet suddenly turn red. Sparks fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shoots from it into the air, a charred piece of parchment flies from it - everyone in the room gasps.

Dumbledore catches the parchment and holds it at arm's length, so that he can read it by the light of the flames, which turn back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he says in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" Ron yells, as the room bursts into a storm of applause and cheering.

Krum rises from the Slytherin table, and slouches over towards Dumbledore; he turns right, walks along the staff table, and disappears through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff booms, making himself heard, even over all the noise. "Knew you had it in you!"

I wouldn't be surprised if he had demanded a re-draw if anyone but Krum had been chosen...

After the clapping and exciting talking dies down, everyone's attention returns to the Goblet, which, seconds later, turns red once more. A second piece of parchment shoots out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore says, "is Fleur Delacour!"

"It's her, Ron!" Harry shouts, as the so-called Veela girl gets to her feet with grace I could never achieve, shakes back her sheet of silvery blonde hair and sweeps up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

"Oh, look, they're all disappointed," Hermione says over all the noise, nodding towards the remainder of the Beauxbatons party.

"Disappointed" is a bit of an understatement, if you ask me. Two of the girls who hadn't been selected have dissolved into tears, and are sobbing with their heads in their arms. Very over-dramatic, in my opinion...

When Fleur Delacour disappears into the chamber as well, silence falls once more, but this time, it's so stiff with excitement that you could almost taste it. It's the Hogwarts champion next... and the Goblet of Fire turns red once more; sparks shower out of it; the tongue of the flame shoots high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulls the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he says, "is Cedric Diggory."

"No!" Ron says loudly, but nobody else hears him, since the uproar from the next table is too great.

Every single Hufflepuff is on their feet, screaming and stamping as Cedric stands up, and makes his way past them, grinning broadly. George looks furious - and I suppose Fred probably does, too - and Ron looks mortified. I, however, clap and cheer with the rest, and as he passes where I'm sitting, he catches my eye, and I give him a slight nod, as if to say "Congratulations". He nods at me in return, and keeps on walking towards the teacher's table, before disappearing into the chamber. The applause for Cedric goes on for so long, it takes a while for Dumbledore to make himself heard.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore calls happily, as the tumult finally dies down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remainder of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champion every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real-"

But Dumbledore suddenly stops talking, and it's obvious to anyone why. The fire in the Goblet has suddenly turned red once more. Sparks are flying out of it. A long flame shoots suddenly into the air, and upon it is another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seems, Dumbledore reaches out to take the parchment. He holds it out and stands, as my heart starts beating wildly, and I feel myself burning with curiosity about what the parchment says.

Then, Dumbledore clears his throat and reads out a name. A name that makes my heart stop.

"Harry Potter."


	25. The Fourth Champion and Jealous Weasleys

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Fourth Champion and Jealous Weasleys**

 

Feeling numb with shock, I turn around to look at him, eyes wide. What's going on? Did Harry enter his name? Surely not... I mean, he had talked about it, fantasized about winning, sure... we all did... but he never actually  _seriously_ considered entering his name, did he? No, of course not... there's been some sort of mistake... perhaps I hadn't heard correctly...

Instead, a buzzing, as though of angry bees, starts to fill the Hall; some students stand up in their seats to get a better look at Harry as he sits, apparently frozen, in his seat.

Looking at him, I become more and more convinced that he couldn't possibly have entered his name. He seems so shocked at his name being called, he couldn't possibly have done it. Besides, how could he have gotten past Dumbledore's Age Line? It's impossible... Harry turns to Ron, Hermione, and I.

"I didn't put my name in," he says blankly. "You know I didn't."

All we can do is stare as blankly back at him. I wish I could do something more useful, but shock is still coursing through me, not allowing me to do or say anything helpful. But I become certain that he didn't enter his name. It's impossible. He couldn't have gotten past Dumbledore's Age Line. Dumbledore's a genius, Harry wouldn't be able to enter. And Harry would've told us. He would've told us about his great feat. No way he'd keep it a secret from us... we're his best friends...

"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore calls from the top table. "Harry! Up here, if you please!"

Dumbledore's voice snaps me out of my stupor.

"Go on," I whisper to Harry, giving him a slight push. When he doesn't move, I push him a bit harder, and add, "Come on, Harry, you've got to go up."

Harry finally gets to his feet, trods on the hem of his robes, and stumbles slightly. He sets off up the gap between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables. I watch his back as he walks, biting my lip nervously. His walk to the top table seems to take forever. The buzzing grows louder and louder, and I can catch snatches of conversation, most of them resentful words towards Harry. After what feels like an hour, he stops right in front of Dumbledore.

"Well, through the door, Harry," Dumbledore says, without a trace of the smile he was wearing moments before.

Harry walks down the teachers' table, with the gaze of everyone in the Great Hall following him. Just as Cedric, Fleur, and Krum have done, he disappears through the door to the chamber.

I stare at the door where Harry disappeared through, before turning back to face Ron and Hermione, my heart beating wildly in my chest, feeling confused and scared, as what just happened really hit me. Harry was selected by the Goblet of Fire... he's going to have to compete... he's going to have to risk his life...

But no... he couldn't compete... they're not going to actually make him compete, are they? He's too young, it's too dangerous... he doesn't know enough! He can't compete! They're not going to make him... I know Dumbledore said that once someone was selected, they had to compete and see the Tournament through to the end, but this has got to be an exception... Harry's too young to compete... he can't compete, he just can't.

I try to say something to Ron and Hermione, but I haven't a clue what to say. Luckily, Ron spares the trouble.

"D'you think he entered his name, then?" he asks us.

"No," I reply immediately, at the same time Hermione does.

"Did you see how shocked he was? He could barely move!" Hermione adds, and I nod.

Ron simply shrugs, but before anything else can be said, Dumbledore, who'd been in conversation with Mr. Crouch.

"Well, those are the champions," Dumbledore says, without the enthusiasm he had before. "I hope you will support them whole-heartedly throughout the Tournament, as your support will contribute to a very real feeling of friendship and affection. Now, off to bed, all of you."

There's a scraping and banging throughout the Hall, mingled with loud chattering. Dumbledore, Mr. Crouch, Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, Snape, and McGonagall all hurry through the door to the chamber. Now that the feast is over, nobody bothers to keep their voice down.

"He's a lying, filthy cheat!" one fifth year Hufflepuff says.

"He's not even seventeen! How come he gets to enter, and I don't?" the boy's friend says in outrage.

"How did he manage to get past the Age Line?" a Ravenclaw fourth year asks, looking more curious than angry.

"Probably used some sort of Dark magic!" the first Hufflepuff says.

"Oh, please," I scoff. "Because  _Harry Potter_ is likely to know and use Dark magic."

"But how  _did_ he do it?" Ron asks, as we start walking up the marble staircase.

"Do what?" I ask, puzzled.

"Enter his name," Ron replies impatiently. "How could he get past the Age Line? And why didn't he tell us?"

"Probably because he didn't enter," I say, looking around at him in disbelief.

"You don't actually think he entered, do you?" Hermione asks, looking incredulous.

Ron shrugs once more, "Well, how else would his name be chosen?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I say, growing more and more startled by Ron's behaviour; this isn't how I expected him to react at all... "Someone entered him."

"And why would they do that?" he snorts.

"I dunno, might just be someone's sick idea of a joke," I shrug, though I am genuinely curious about who entered Harry's name. "Wanted Harry to get in trouble if his name got picked, you know, since he's under-age... wanted to see him risk his life..."

The thought of it makes me very angry... this being someone's idea of a joke... someone just wanted a laugh, so they decided to enter Harry in the Triwizard Tournament...

"I don't think it's a joke," Hermione says darkly. "I think whoever entered Harry really wanted him hurt - maybe even dead! And I don't think it was a student who entered him..."

"So you reckon one of the teachers entered him?" Ron asks disbelievingly. "Even Snape wouldn't do that... not with Dumbledore around..."

"Well, no student would be able to fool Dumbledore's Age Line," Hermione insists.

"What is it with you?" I ask, rounding on Ron. "You can't really think Harry entered himself. He would've told us. And it's like Hermione said, no student would be able to fool Dumbledore's Age Line."

Again, Ron simply shrugs. I look at him in disbelief he actually thinks Harry entered himself.

"Why would Harry  _want_ to risk his life?" I snap.

"Well, it's not like it's the first time," Ron retorts.

"It's not like he's asking for it, either!" I say fiercely, as we reach the corridor where the Fat Lady's portrait is.

Ron mumbles something under his breath, something that I can't quite catch. I glare at him, but turn my attention to the Fat Lady to tell her the password. Until I realize that she's not alone. A wizened witch is with her, and they seem to be deep in conversation.

"Have you heard?" the witch says, looking excited. "Well, of course you have, I suppose. Harry Potter's entering the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore's letting him enter. They say he  _has_ to."

"Always getting himself into danger, that one," the Fat Lady says. "He find trouble easier than anyone this school has ever seen, don't you think, Violet?"

The witch nods in agreement, and both Violet and the Fat Lady are acting as though they're discussing a particularly interesting television program.

"Balderdash," I say, feeling annoyed.

The Fat Lady swings over on her hinges to let us in. We scramble through the portrait hole, and all thoughts of talking to Harry the moment he returns to the common room disappears like smoke. I expected the common room to be mostly empty, expect for maybe a few people. Instead, it's packed with what seems to be everyone in Gryffindor, all talking excitedly. When we enter, a fair few people turn to see us, but then turn away in disappointment when they see who it is. Clearly, by the snatches of conversation I can hear, they're all waiting for Harry to congratulate him. The thought that people think this is something to be celebrated makes me sick.

"I'm going to bed," Ron says moodily, and stalks off without another word.

I glare after him, shaking my head. "He can't possible think Harry entered..."

"I think he's more jealous than anything," Hermione says, watching the door to the boys' dormitories, in which Ron just disappeared through seconds before.

"Jealous of what? Harry getting thrown into danger all the time, having his parents murdered, and getting a scar on his forehead?" I ask in disbelief. "Doesn't seem very fun to me."

"Well, Harry always gets the attention, and Ron's always kind of ignored. And being the second youngest in the family, he doesn't get the most attention or anything. So, at home he's ignored, and at school he is, too, because his best friend is famous," Hermione says fairly. "So, I suppose this is kind of Harry crossing the line..."

"I suppose that makes sense," I admit grudgingly. "But it's no excise for him to be a git. It's not like Harry's asking for any of this!"

"I know that," Hermione agrees patiently. "Still, Ron'll come around eventually..."

I don't reply to that. Instead, I look around the room, and let out a sigh.

"I wanted to talk to Harry when he got back," I state. "But now... with everyone here..."

"So did I," Hermione agrees, looking slightly disgruntled and upset as she looks around the common room. "C'mon, let's just go to bed. We can just talk to him in the morning."

"All right," I say, and together, we make our way through the common room, opening the door to the girls' dormitories, and entering.

I close the door behind me, and the sound of everyone's talking becomes muffled and quieter. I relax slightly at that, being able to think more clearly without all the noise. We walk up the steps and enter the door labelled "Fourth years". I change into my nightgown, and once finished, I stare into my reflection in the mirror, hardly taking in my appearance.

"D'you think what that Violet said was true?" I ask Hermione, looking over my shoulder at her. "That Harry'll have to compete?"

"I don't know," Hermione shrugs, looking worried. "Dumbledore said that once someone was chosen they'll have to compete..."

"But he also said that nobody under seventeen is allowed to compete!" I point out desperately.

Hermione just shrugs once more, looking just as anxious as I feel. Sighing, I turn back to look in the mirror. Into my face, which is pale from fear, and my dark eyes. I rub at my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to relax.

I turn away, and walk over to my bed. I sit down on it, but I don't lay down. I feel too restless to sleep, and apparently Hermione does, as well, because she's simply sitting on her bed, staring at the wall opposite, apparently lost in thought. I stare at the floor, worry coursing through me, wondering what's happening with Harry and how he's feeling. The silence stretches on, until Hermione finally breaks it.

"Er, so what  _did_ happen between you and Fred?" she asks tentatively.

I turn around to face her, wondering how she could ask me such a thing at a time like this. Though the thought of Fred made my blood boil, the whole fight seems irrelevant when Harry might be forced to compete in a dangerous task that could get him killed. But then I realize that she's just trying to change the subject, lighten the tension. She's just as worried as I am, but she knows that there's nothing we can do about it until we talk to Harry tomorrow. We can't confirm anything...

I shrug, before speaking. "You know, Jace, right? Jace Landon? The boy in Ravenclaw in our year? You've met him, haven't you?"

"The one that keeps running into you?" Hermione asks, with a slightly amused smile on her face.

"That's the one," I confirm, allowing myself a small smile. "Anyway, while I was getting Midnight to deliver Remus' letter, I literally bumped into him - again. He was delivering a gist to his mum. So after we sent our owls, we were walking to breakfast together, when we ran into Fred and George. I introduced them, and George got on perfectly well with him, and didn't have a problem with him. But Fred didn't seem to like him much. He said that he was a complete git and rubbish like that after Jace left. And when I tell him he's being unfair, he goes 'It's not my fault you pick rubbish people to be your friends.'. Like, how dare he? He doesn't even know Jace! Honestly, I still don't know what his problem is! The stupid, little prick. I never have a problem with any of  _his_ friends, I don't see why he has to go off and insult  _mine_. He's lucky George dragged him off. If he said one more thing, I would've hexed him so hard his grandchildren would feel it."

"Hazel, don't you see?" Hermione asks, looking amused.

The look on her face infuriates me. What exactly is so funny about this?

"See what?" I snap.

"He's  _jealous_ ," Hermione says, with a maddening all-knowing look.

"Jealous of what?" I ask impatiently, though confused.

"Of Jace!" Hermione replies, matching my impatience, though she's wearing a smirk. "Fred saw you talking and laughing with Jace, some random guy he doesn't know, and he got jealous!"

"And why exactly would he get jealous?" I snort disbelievingly.

"Because he likes you!" Hermione exclaims, torn between exasperated and amusement.

"You're mental," I say, shaking my head.

"And you're blind," Hermione says, with a slight smile.

"He doesn't like me," I say firmly. "He's just being a right, slimy git."

"I'm not denying that," Hermione says, nodding. "I'm just saying he's a right, slimy,  _jealous_ git."

 _I suppose that makes two Weasleys,_ I thought, thinking of Ron.

"Mental," I repeat, grinning. "I'm going to sleep. G'night, Mione."

"Goodnight, Hazel," she says, and I pull the curtains of my four poster around me, before crawling under the covers and sinking into bed.

Just as expected, I find it difficult to sleep. Both bitter and curious thoughts of Fred run through my mind, mixed with anxious thoughts of Harry and the Triwizard Tournament. They chase each other in my mind, coming into focus for a couple seconds, only to be replaced by a new thought.

Have they come to the conclusion of whether or not Harry is to compete? Is Harry getting into trouble? Has he managed to convince any of them that he didn't enter his name? Snape's went down to the chamber as well... no doubt the slimy git is trying to get Harry expelled...

And Fred... I'm now confused. Before, I was certain that Fred was being a git and being rude about Jace for no reason, but now... I'm not sure what to think. Is Hermione right? Is Fred acting so ridiculously because he's actually  _jealous_ of Jace? Because he likes me and didn't like seeing me talking and laughing with another guy?

 _Don't be ridiculous, Hazel,_ I tell myself sternly.  _You know Fred doesn't like you, and it's useless to even try to think otherwise. He's seen you talking and laughing with other guys and doesn't get 'jealous' and start insulting them. He's just being a git for no good reason, and you know that._

I let out another sigh, turning over on my side, and wishing I didn't feel so restless. Finally, after tossing and turning several times, and several failed attempts to clear my mind, my thoughts and worries carry me off into an uneasy sleep.


	26. Talk it Out

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it Out**

 

The next morning, Hermione shakes me awake, with the impatient expression that she usually wears when trying to wake me up.

"Maybe I should just start dumping buckets of cold water on your head," she says with a small smile, as I fling my legs over the side of my bed and rub my eyes blearily. **  
**

"I'd murder you," I inform her, my voice groggy, and my smile tired. "Nothing personal."

"Just hurry up, won't you? I want to catch up with Harry," she says, continuing to brush her thick, bushy hair.

The mention of Harry manages to get me to leap to my feet, my heart racing I'd almost forgotten yesterday's events, and my worries about Harry. I hurry over to the bathroom, stopping at my trunk to quickly grab clothes at random from my trunk. Once in the bathroom, with the door closed, I realize that I'm holding two shirts and no pants. Sighing, I open the door and walk back to my trunk to grab a pair of pants, scratching my head.

Once with pants, I go back into the bathroom and brush my teeth and my hair. I quickly change, and hurry out of the bathroom. I throw my robes over my clothes, and brush my hair. Checking my reflection in the mirror for a moment, I set down the brush, and exit the dormitory along with Hermione.

In the common room, people are still talking excitedly about Harry. I note that the messy-haired, green-eyes boy himself, however, is nowhere to be seen.

"He must already be at breakfast," Hermione whispers to me, noticing my disappointed expression at Harry's absence.

"Right," I say, nodding, and together, we set off for the Great Hall.

Yet Harry is nowhere to be found in the Great Hall, as well. As I eat my oatmeal, my head keeps darting towards the door of the Great Hall so often that I bet it looks like I have a twitch.

"Relax, Hazel, we'll catch up with him soon enough," Hermione whispers, though she keeps checking to see is Harry's entering the Great Hall almost as often as I am.

Ron sits down across from us, greeting us, looking to be in a bad mood. Anger bubbles up inside me, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and assume that he came to his senses last night.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" I ask, looking at him over the rim of my goblet, before taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Harry," he replies simply, and I raise my eyebrow.

"Care to explain?" I say, and Hermione studies Ron carefully, looking worried.

"Got into a bit of a disagreement," he says. "Didn't want to tell me how he entered. Said I was being stupid..."

"Well, he's got a point," I mumble under my breath.

Hermione steps on my foot under the table, causing me to give a sharp intake of breath. Ron doesn't seem to have noticed anything, however.

"Can't believe him..." Ron says angrily. "Just loves to get himself into danger, loves being centre of attention all the bloody time."

"Come off it, you don't think he enjoys it, do you?" I ask in disbelief.

"Well, you can't get yourself into situations that make you the centre of attention as much as he does without enjoying yourself a bit," he replies.

"He's famous for his parents being murdered and having a scar on his forehead!" I say. "It doesn't sound like a world of fun, if you ask me!"

Ron doesn't answer, he simply glowers at his plate of bacon and eggs. I shake my head at him, before resuming to eat.

Once Hermione and I both finish eating, we don't leave, trying to find reasons to stay so that we can find Harry. Finally, we get to our feet, and we're just about to leave, when an idea strikes me.

"We should probably bring Harry a bit of toast," I say to Hermione. "He probably won't want to face the entire school after what happened."

"Good idea," Hermione says, and takes a napkin, and puts a stack of toast on it. "C'mon, he ought to be awake by now..."

Just as we pass the end of the Gryffindor table, someone calling my name makes me turn around. But when I see who it is, I turn back around and continue to stride across the Hall.

"Hazel, wait!" Fred's voice calls, and I can hear his footsteps approaching me.

I freeze once more, but don't turn around. I contemplate my options, trying to decided what I should do. The way I see it, there are only two things to do: turn around and slap him, or continue to ignore him and keep walking. The former sounds better to me, as it's what the git deserves, but the latter would keep me out of trouble.

"Hazel, it might be worth it to see what he wants to-" Hermione begins, as though she'd read my mind.

"C'mon," I interrupt, shaking my head. "I don't want to listen to anything he has to say..."

Hermione looks like she wants to convince me to do otherwise, but simply nods, and we continue to walk, my strides becoming quicker so that Fred could get the message that I don't want to speak to him. No such luck. I can feel someone's hand on my shoulder, and I'm forced to turn around, finding myself face-to-face with Fred.

"Hazel, please, hear me out..." Fred says pleadingly, while I look anywhere but into his eyes, since I know I'll give in and listen to anything he says if I look into those stupid, perfect brown eyes. "Hazel, look, I know you're mad at me, but..."

Unable to stop myself, I look up from the edge of the Ravenclaw table, into his eyes. He trails off, staring deeply into my eyes, but I don't allow myself to melt under his gaze. I shake my head at him slightly, keeping my expression stony, and force myself out of his grip. I turn on my heels, and move swiftly out of the Great Hall.

"Hazel, please, wait!" Fred's voice calls, a note of desperation in his tone, but I don't turn back, and I don't bother to stop this time, either.

I enter the Entrance Hall, and I let out a deep sigh, wishing that Fred would make it easy to be mad at him. Him and his stupid eyes. I can hear someone's hurrying footsteps, and the next moment, Hermione's at my side, holding the stack of toast very carefully.

"I really think you should take just a second to listen to him," Hermione says. "Who knows, he could be apologizing."

"I don't care what he's got to say," I say, and I can feel my anger at Fred boiling up inside me once more. "He can't insult my friends like that and just expect me to forgive him." When Hermione opens her mouth to say something else, I quickly add, not wanting to talk about it. "C'mon, let's just go and find Harry."

And I begin to sweep up the marble staircase without another word.

 

**_*Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*_ **

 

Fred watched the spot where Hazel had disappeared through moments before, his heart dropping to the region of his stomach, and feeling defeated. He felt rooted to the spot, his disappointment disabling him of the ability to move. Finally, he managed to move his feet, though they felt as heavy as anchors, and walked back to his seat at the Gryffindor table.

"Tough luck, mate," Lee said sympathetically, clapping him on the shoulder consolingly.

"Why won't she just  _listen_ to me?" Fred asks, feeling slightly annoyed. "Honestly, it's not like it's going to kill her."

"You've just got to give her some time," George advised wisely. "Let her angry fade away. She'll come around eventually."

But Fred felt impatient. The fight hadn't been going on long - especially compared to their last fight - but it was ridiculous. The whole thing was stupid. He didn't want to give her time, he didn't want to wait for her to come around  _eventually_. Who knows how long that could be? He wanted the fight to be over, so things could go back to normal. And he wanted that to happen now. He didn't even feel jealous any more...

"Trust me, Fred, she's not going to be mad forever," George insisted, noticing that his twin still felt troubled. "She'll get over it."

Fred hardly heard.

"She's going to listen to me," Fred said determinedly. "I don't care if I've got to follow her around all day."

"I think that'd just annoy her even more," Lee said with a grin. "And I'm pretty sure that's not the effect you're going for."

"Yeah, I've found in my days that annoying a girl doesn't really help you get any pussy," George agreed.

Fred and Lee laughed. Once the laughter subsided, however, Fred shrugged. "She's got to hear me out... and she will."

George shook his head. "Whatever you say, Freddie."

Fred participated in the conversation after that, but he was still lost in thought. He had to admit that getting Hazel to forgive him was going to be difficult. Last night, during the feast, she wouldn't even look at him. And she hadn't said a word to him since the argument. So getting her to look at him and speak to him would be an accomplishment, even if those actions didn't show any affection. Getting her to forgive him was an entirely different feat - a much bigger one.

But he couldn't stand the idea of Hazel being mad at him, of Hazel resenting him. He had to get her to forgive him, and he didn't care what he had to do in order to accomplish this.

 

**_*Hazel's Point of View, First Person*_ **

 

We make the journey to Gryffindor tower in silence, and when we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady, it's pushed open, and we find ourselves face-to-face with Harry himself.

"Hello," Hermione greets, holding up the stack of toast. "We brought you this... want to go for a walk?"

"Good idea," Harry says gratefully.

We go downstairs, cross the Entrance Hall quickly without looking into the Great Hall, and are soon striding across the lawn to the lake, where the Durmstrang ship is moored, reflected by the glossy black surface of the lake. It's a chilly morning, and I wish I had my cloak. We keep moving, munching on toast, as Harry tells us exactly what happened when he left the Gryffindor table last night.

"Well, of course we knew you hadn't entered yourself," Hermione says, after Harry finishes. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is, who did put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry... I don't think any student could've done it... they'd never be able to fool the Goblet, or get past Dumbledore's-"

"Have you seen Ron?" Harry asks, cutting off Hermione.

Hermione and I exchange glances, hesitating, before I answer.

"Erm... yes... he was at breakfast," I reply tentatively.

"Does he still think I entered myself?"

"Well... no, I don't think so... not  _really_ ," Hermione replies awkwardly.

"What's that suppose to mean, 'not  _really_ '?" Harry asks, sounding impatient.

"Oh, Harry, isn't it obvious?" Hermione says despairingly. "He's jealous!"

" _Jealous_!" Harry says incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wanted to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"

"Look," Hermione says patiently, "it's always you who gets the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," Hermione adds quickly, when Harry opens his mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it... but - well - you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous - he's always shunted to one side when people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many..."

"Great," Harry says bitterly. "Really great. Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him he's welcome to it... people gaping at my forehead everywhere I go..."

"I'm not telling him anything," Hermione says shortly. "You tell him yourself. That's the only way to sort this out."

"I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up!" Harry exclaims, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree take flight in alarm. "Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken, or-"

"That's not funny," I say quietly, not even wanting to think about something like that. "That's not funny at all."

"Harry, I've been thinking - you do realize what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?" Hermione says, looking extremely anxious.

"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the-"

"Write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what's happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts... it's almost as if he expected this to happen. I brought some parchment and a quill with me-"

"Come off it," Harry says, looking around to make sure we're alone, but the grounds are quite empty. "He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament-"

"Sirius would want you to tell him," I pipe up. "He's going to find out anyway."

"How?"

"Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet," Hermione says, very seriously. "This Tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't an article in the  _Daily Prophet_ about you competing... you're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know... and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would."

"Okay, okay, I'll write to him," Harry says, throwing the last bit of toast into the lake.

We stand and watch it floating there for a moment, until a large tentacle rises out of the water and scoops it beneath the surface. With that, we return to the castle.

"Hazel, can I borrow Midnight?" Harry asks, as we climb the stairs. "Sirius said not to use Hedwig any more."

"He's off delivering a letter," I tell him, shaking my head. "Sorry, Harry."

"Ask Ron if you can borrow-" Hermione begins, and I have the suspicion Hermione's mostly suggesting this so Harry and Ron would talk.

"I'm not asking Ron for anything," Harry says flatly.

"Well, borrow one of the school owls, then, anyone can use them," Hermione says.

We reach the Owlery. Hermione gives him a piece of parchment, and a quill, then we stroll around the long line of perches, looking at all the owls, while Harry sits down against a wall, and begins writing his letter.

"Finished," Harry says after a while, getting up, and brushing the straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig flutters down from her perch and onto Harry's shoulder.

"I can't use you," Harry says, looking around at the school owls. "I've got to use one of these."

Hedwig gives a very loud hoot, and takes off so suddenly that her talons cut into Harry's shoulder, and I wince at the sight of it. She keeps her back to Harry the entire time that he's tying the letter to one of the barn owls. When the barn owl flies off through a window, Harry goes to stroke Hedwig, but she clicks her beak furiously and soars up into the rafters, out of reach.

"First Ron, then you," Harry says angrily. "This isn't my fault."

 

***

 

Fred seems to have a new resolve to see how much he can annoy me. Whenever he sees me, he tries to get me to talk to him. And he sees me so often that it's as if he's following me. If it wasn't for my own resolve to not talk or look at Fred, I would've looked him right in the eyes and screamed that I didn't want to even be near him.

After dinner, I finish before Harry and Hermione, and I decide to go and check over my Transfiguration essay, since I'm not quite sure it's very good.

"I'll see you guys later," I say to them, before getting up and hurrying out of the Hall.

"Hey, Hazel!" a voice calls, and annoyance courses through me when I recognize who it is.

I let out a noise of frustration, but I manage to keep it quiet. I continue to walk, quickening my pace. I hear footsteps behind me, and curse under my breath.

 _Can't he take a fucking hint?_ I thought angrily.

As I'm about to start up the marble staircase, I remind myself, trying to stay positive, that once the girls' dormitories I'll be able to escape Fred and his constant pursuing of me.

"Hazel, please, just stop for a moment!" Fred calls.

Losing my temper, I turn around, and find him closer than I think. He's only a few feet away from me. I take a few steps towards him, glaring at him fiercely.

"Listen to me, Fred, and listen well, since, because you can't seem to be able to take a fucking hint, I'm going to have to tell you this straight to your face," I begin, in a low and deadly voice. "I don't want to speak to you. I don't want to be anywhere near you. And I don't fucking care about what you've got to say. You've insulted one of my friends without even knowing him, and you can't just do that and get away with it. So, please, just stay the fuck away from me."

There's silence at my words, in which I glare furiously at Fred, and he simply stares t me with an expression that I can't quite read. It frustrates me that I can hardly ever tell what he's thinking these days... it'd be easier if I could read minds... then I'd be able to know if he really is jealous, too...

Suddenly, Fred lists me up and throws me over his shoulder, lifting me as easily as if I'm a feather. I let out a shriek of surprise, and anger courses through me so strongly that I feel like I might explode.

"FRED!" I scream furiously, pounding at his back with my fists, and kicking at his front. "FRED WEASLEY, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW I'M GOING TO-"

"Keep it down, or the teachers'll have our heads," Fred simply says in reply, walking towards the great double doors.

I continue to hit him as hard as I can, but whether it's hurting him, or he's just acting like it isn't, I can't tell. He walks through the doors to the grounds, and once outside, I continue to scream and shout at Fred, including man colourful curse words.

Fred just ignores my hitting and screaming, until he finally puts me down against the wall of the castle. I'm about to open my mouth furiously to speak, but my breath hitches in my throat when he steps very closely to me, putting one hand slightly above the side of my head, his height causing him to tower over me.

"Just listen to me for a moment, all right?" he says in a low voice, looking at me directly in the eyes.

I don't reply, instead I look back up at him, my heart beating so fast it might burst. I bite my lip nervously, unable to do anything else, frozen. Fred seems to take my lack of reaction to be consent to continue.

"I know you're mad at me, and I get why," Fred starts, his voice still low, as though he wants only me to hear, despite the fact that we're quite alone. "I was being a prat, I admit it. I don't know him, and I shouldn't have called him a git. You have every right to be mad at me, but please forgive me. Our relationship means too much to me for something like this to ruin it. Please, forgive me?"

Fred being in such close proximity of me renders me speechless, and all I can do is continue to stare up at him, my heart in my mouth. It takes a lot of self-restraint to not kiss him. Fred studies me closely, trying to read my expression, and I pray that he can't, because I'm feeling a jumble of emotions. My resentful feelings for him lingering slightly, though not like they were before; the urge to kiss him stronger than ever; and most of all, nervousness running through me, causing my heart to race faster than ever, and my palms to feel sweaty, which makes me feel extremely embarrassed when his free hand traces down my arm, and takes my hand. His touch sends tingles down my spine.

"Hazel?" he whispers, a note of nervousness in his voice.

It finally registers in my mind that I need to say something, instead of standing there and gazing at him like an idiot.

"Why did you act like that?" I finally manage to get out, my voice faint.

Not it's his turn to hesitate. He licks his lips, his brow furrowed, as he looks down at me. He remains silent for a long time, before finally speaking.

"It like I said, I don't know Jace," he replies slowly, looking as though he's choosing every word very carefully. My eyes wander down from his eyes for a second, watching his lips move, and resisting the urge to kiss him becomes all the more harder. He starts drawing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, causing tingles to go down my spine once more. "And I - I thought you fancied him. And you know, it's like I said that day, I don't want anyone hurting you."

"So," I begin, finding it increasingly hard to form coherent sentences, "you went and insulted him?"

"Yeah," he replies simply. "Wasn't smart, but I was just upset at the idea of you dating him. I don't know what he's like, for all I knew, he could've been an asshole who'd hurt you..."

My heart drops. So he wasn't jealous...

 _Stupid girl,_ I thought.  _Getting your hopes up._

"Hazel?" he says once more, bringing me back to the present. "Please... just - please."

I simply nod for a moment, before I manage to choke out actual words. "Yes - yes, I forgive you, Fred."

A smile spreads across his lips, which is reciprocated weakly by me. People often talk about getting butterflies in your stomach when with your crush. But what I'm feeling right now aren't butterflies - more like Hippogriffs.

I don't know how long we stand there, simply looking at each other. I vaguely notice Fred getting closer to me. I feel goosebumps sprout up my arm, and strong winds slapping me, making me unsure whether the goosebumps are from the cold, or if that's simply the effect Fred has on me.

"Fred," I whisper.

"Mhmm?"

"I'm cold," I simply say.

Immediately, Fred moves away from me. I try with immense difficulty to fight off the disappointed feeling inside me. He pulls off his jumper, and hands it to me.

"Here, put this on."

"But won't you be cold?" I ask him, being able to think and speak more clearly without him being so close to me.

"I'll be fine," he insists, holding up the jumper.

I take the jumper from him, and pull it on. Immediately, a feeling of warmth washes over me. The jumper is too large on me, reaching about mid-thigh, and the sleeves cover my hands. I note that the jumper smells like him. Like mint, dark berries, and vaguely of sweets. The very best scent in the world, in other words.

"Thanks," I say, trying not to act like I like wearing it too much.

"No problem, love," he says, shrugging casually, and my heart leaps when he calls me 'love'. "We should probably head back inside."

"All right," I say, nodding.

He puts his arm over my shoulders, and together, we head back to the castle, talking and laughing. I notice Fred shivering slightly, and goosebumps forming on his arms.

"You really shouldn't have given this to me," I insist, feeling guilty.

"I think I can survive the walk to the Entrance Hall, Hazey," Fred laughs.

"Are you sure?" I ask, in mock concern. "You know how frail and weak you are, Fred."

"Hey!" he protests, grinning. "I did manage to pick you up, and that's no easy feat."

"You little git!" I exclaim dramatically, crossing my arms, and pouting at him.

"Ah, come on, Knight," Fred says, grinning down at me. "How many times do I have to tell you? You're lighter than a feather. But then again, maybe I'm just super strong."

"I'm going to go with the first one, Freddie," I tease, grinning cheekily.

"All right, that's it, Knight," Fred says, and, without warning, lifts me up in a fireman's carry, and starts spinning me around.

I start laughing uncontrollably, gripping onto Fred's hand tightly, as he spins around faster, laughing at that sign of fear of falling. When he finally puts me down, I stumble slightly, before managing to regain my balance.

"See, I'm strong!" Fred laughs, looking at me in triumph.

"Very," I agree, laughing, as we hurry up the stone steps to the double doors.

"After you," Fred says, gesturing towards the double doors and bowing, in a mock-pompous way.

"Oh, what a gentleman," I say, pretending to gush, walking into the Entrance Hall, Fred following closely behind.

"Oi, Fred, there you are!" Lee calls, walking out of the Great Hall, along with George.

"We've been looking for you everywhere," George says. Then, upon realizing that I'm there, and wearing Fred's jumper, he adds, "Well, would you look at that, Lee? They're speaking again!"

"Never thought I'd live to see the day," Lee jokes.

"I did. I believe you owe me ten Knuts, Mr. Jordan," George says, grinning.

"Your bet on when we'd make up?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah," George replies, as he takes the Knuts that Lee's reluctantly holding out for him.

"Unbelievable," I say, shaking my head.

"Well, I'm certainly glad everything's fine between you two now," Lee says, in a business-like tone. "Hazel, you really should've heard how much Fred went on and on about how much the fight was driving him insane. Honestly, it was like-"

"Lee, shut up," Fred says, and he looks slightly - embarrassed. Actually embarrassed. Since when does Fred Weasley get embarrassed?

"You went one and on about it?" I ask him, fighting a losing battle to not smile.

"Oh, yeah!" George says, when Fred doesn't answer. "It's all he would talk about!"

"Shut it," Fred insists, not meeting my eyes.

Before George and Lee can embarrass Fred any more, footsteps hurrying down the marble staircase makes us look around. Jace sees us, and seems to be convincing himself into doing something. He walks right over to Fred and I, and takes a deep breath.

"Look, I overheard your argument yesterday," he begins. Fred suddenly becomes extremely embarrassed.

"Ah, mate, I'm so sorry about that," Fred says awkwardly. "I was bang out of order, and-"

"It's fine. I'm just glad that you two aren't fighting any more," Jace insists. "I just want to say that I never meant to get in the way of your - friendship." he continues, looking as though the word 'friendship' isn't quite the word he'd use to describe us. "That was never my intention, and I don't want to be the reason for you to be fighting. So, if I ever get in the way of your friendship again, tell me to piss off and I gladly will."

Fred looks shocked at Jace's words. He manages to snap out of it, and says, "Er, thanks, I suppose. And look, I hope that we can still be friends after all this. You seem all right - and I'm not just saying that."

"Sounds cool," Jace says, nodding. "All of you," he adds, nodding towards George and Lee. "Anyway, I've got some homework to finish off, I better go."

He waves, and then hurries off.

"Oh, yeah, what a prat," I say sarcastically to Fred.

"I thought we were past that!" Fred protests.

"Not quite, Freddie," I tease, grinning.

"Anyway, Fred, we've got some important Weasley business to do," George says, giving him a meaningful look, which Fred seems to understand immediately.

"What important Weasley business?" I ask curiously.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Hazey," Fred says vaguely.

"Is it about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Potentially," George shrugs, with a look that confirms my suspicions.

"See you later, Knight," Lee says, and Fred goes to join them.

An impulse takes over me, I suddenly grab Fred's arm before he can take a step forward, saying, "Fred?"

"Yeah?" he asks curiously.

I go onto my tiptoes in order to be able to whisper in his ear, not wanting George and Lee to hear. "I think it's really sweet and adorable that you went on and on about the fight."

Fred suddenly looks very pleased as he goes to George and Lee, who'd been previously making gagging motions when I went to whisper in Fred's ear. As soon as they're gone, I realize that I hadn't given Fred his jumper back. Sighing, and making a mental note to give it to him next time I see him, I hurry up to Gryffindor tower, my old intentions of looking over my Transfiguration essay gone like smoke.

I enter the girls' dormitories to find Hermione there. I wave at her cheerfully, before practically skipping over to my bed and collapsing onto it, sighing blissfully.

"Why are you so happy?" she asks.

"It's a nice day," I reply vaguely.

"Made up with Fred, have you?" she asks, sounding amused.

"How'd you know?" I ask, propping myself up on my elbows, and turning my head to look at her.

"Well, you're wearing his jumper, for one thing," she points out, grinning.

"Oh, yeah," I say thickly, looking down at the soft material. "Right."

"So, what happened?" she asks eagerly.

I sit up straight, and immediately go into detail about what happened, starting with Fred pursuing me in the Entrance Hall, and ending with George and Lee whisking Fred off for "important Weasley business".

"... and you know, I don't get why Lee gets to know this 'important Weasley business', and I don't, because Lee isn't a Weasley either," I finish.

"Hazel, Fred almost kissed you!" Hermione says, smirking. "You  _have_  to admit that he likes you!"

"Not really," I shrug, shaking my head. "He told me he wasn't jealous."

"Well, of course he  _told_ you he wasn't jealous," Hermione says. "That'd be very bold, even for Fred."

"Well, why didn't he just kiss me if he liked me?" I ask, feeling triumphant by this retort.

"I think he was about to, he just hesitated too long," Hermione replies, shrugging. "And Fred said that your  _relationship_ meant too much to him for something like that to ruin it, didn't he?"

"Yeah," I nod. "What about it?"

"Hazel, he said  _relationship_ instead of  _friendship_ , because he considers you to be more than a friend," Hermione says, in an all-knowing way.

"Ridiculous," I insist quietly, shaking my head.

"You've got to be joking," Hermione says in exasperation, looking as though she personally thought that the only thing that's ridiculous is my behaviour.

"'Fraid not, Mione," I inform her in a mock-grin voice. "I know he doesn't think of me as any more than a friend."

"You'll see soon enough," Hermione says. "And I'll be able to say 'I told you so' for ages."

"Whatever gets you through the day, 'Mione," I laugh.

I take off Fred's jumper, slightly reluctant to do so, and fold it and place it gently on the edge of my bed. Then I let out a sigh, wondering what I should do. Deciding to just turn in early, I walk over to change into my nightgown.

"How's Harry doing?" I ask Hermione, before beginning to brush my teeth.

"All right, I suppose," Hermione replies. "Actually, he's doing really well, considering the fact that he's about to have to put himself in danger a lot this year. I honestly think his biggest problem is how the school's going to react - and Ron. The Hufflepuffs are going to be livid, too. They'll probably think that Harry stole their House's spotlight - you know their House never gets these kind of things."

I stick my free arm out of the bathroom door, indicating with my index finger to hold on a moment, since I can't speak, as I'm brushing my teeth. I spit, before wiping my mouth and speaking.

"Yeah, so do I," I agree. "The school'll get over it, though, once they get used to the idea of him being a champion. And Hufflepuffs are supposed to be just and fair, aren't they? Then they should be fine... hopefully... and Ron... Ron'll realize he's being a git soon enough."

"If they would just  _talk_ to each other, I'm sure everything would be better," Hermione insists, exasperated. "When you and Fred talked it out, everything became perfectly fine! But they refuse to even be near each other!"

 _So, like how I was with Fred,_ I thought.

"Maybe we should just lock them in a classroom for a couple hours and tell them they can't leave until they make up," I suggest, grinning, before replacing my toothbrush to its original place, and exiting the bathroom. Seeing Hermione's worried expression, I add, trying to convince myself, too, "Harry'll be fine, he's a great wizard. It's not like it's the first time he's dealt with dangerous stuff..."

"I know, but people have died in this, have we really learned enough for this?" she says fearfully.

"Dumbledore wouldn't set him up for death," I say, trying to sound confident. "If he really thought Harry was going to get killed doing these tasks, he wouldn't have let him compete."

"But, they're only letting him compete because those are the rules, aren't they?" Hermione points out.

"Well, if they were following the rules, they wouldn't be letting him compete, since he's under-age," I insist. "Dumbledore wouldn't let him compete if he thought these tasks would kill Harry. He'll do fine..."

"All - all right," Hermione says, still not sounding very convinced. "Goodnight, Hazel."

"Goodnight, Hermione."


	27. Poison and Cedric

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Poison and Cedric**

 

Contrary to what I'd said to reassure Hermione, the only people in the school who are impressed by and okay with Harry being chosen as champion are the Gryffindors. The rest of the school, however, isn't so impressed. The Hufflepuffs aren't only cold with Harry, but with Gryffindor House as a whole. One Herbology lesson shows me that. Just as Hermione had said, the Hufflepuffs seem to think that Harry had stolen their champion's glory, which Hufflepuffs already don't get much of. Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who are normally on very good terms with Harry, don't speak to him, but laugh rather unpleasantly when one of the Bouncing Bulbs wriggles out of Harry's grip and smacks him hard in the face.

Ron refuses to talk to Harry, too. Hermione and I try to get the two of them to talk, but they only respond to us, and don't look at each other. I sigh in frustration, as Hermione and I exchange glances Hermione looking upset and frustrated.

"Let's just give them time," I whisper to her, when we start clearing up. "It's too soon."

Once at Hagrid's cabin, Hermione, Harry, and I talk aimlessly, but Harry seems somewhat distant. I can tell that he's upset by the behaviour of the Hufflepuffs - even Professor Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, seemed somewhat distant with him.

"Ah, look, everyone, it's the Champion," Malfoy says loudly, the moment he gets within earshot of Harry.

"Ah, look, everyone, it's the Amazing Bouncing Ferret," I mumble, mocking his voice.

"Got your autograph books?" Malfoy continues, having not heard me. "Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer. Half the Triwizard Champions have died... how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

Crabbe and Goyle laugh stupidly, but Malfoy can't say any more, because Hagrid emerges from the back of his cabin, balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To my complete and utter horror - and apparently, the rest of the class' horror, as well - he proceeds to explain to us that the reason the Skrewts had killed each other was too much pent-up energy, and the solution is for us to each take a Skrewt, fix a leash on it, and take it for a short walk.

"Take this thing for a walk?" Malfoy repeats in disgust. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," Hagrid replies casually, demonstrating. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry - you come here an' help me with this big one."

Sighing, and gathering my courage, I take out my dragon-hide gloves, and pull them on. Hurrying over, I grab a leash, and go to one of the crates. I spend a few moments trying to figure out how to go about tying the leash around the middle, bending forward before drawing back hurriedly each time. Finally, performing the action quickly as though it would make things easier, I do as Hagrid instructed us to do. However, my sudden movement catches the Skrewt off guard, and it lets out a blast that I'm barely able to jump out of the way of.

The Skrewt takes advantage of the split second I'm off my feet by taking off at top speed, causing it to drag me along in the air for a second, before I fall back on the ground on my stomach, being dragged by the Blast-Ended Skrewt. I try to get back on my feet, byt my desperate attempts are fruitless; the Blast-Ended Skrewt is moving too quickly. I look up, and suddenly realize, with a thrill of fear, that the Skrewt could let out a blast at any moment and it'd hit me right in the head...

I give several more attempts to get to my feet, none of them successful. Finally, seeing that there's no way I'd be able to get up with my hand still on the leash, I decide to make a very stupid choice. My hand releases the leash, and the Skrewt's already fairly fast speed increases, now without the weight of a teenage girl desperately holding on.

I lie on the ground for a moment or two, catching my breath and trying to calm down. Once my heart rate slows down to its normal speed, I realize what I'd just done. I leap to my feet, my heart rate rapidly speeding up again. If that thing went loose on the grounds...

As I look around the scene, desperately trying to find the Skrewt, I notice that my classmates seem to be struggling as much as I am. I'm aware of several of them being dragged along their stomachs like I was moments before. The yelps of pain, shock, and fear also register in my mind. I'd heard them before, but they hadn't really sunk in. As if they were like background music... very pained, stressed background music...

Finally, I manage to find my Skrewt, roaming loose, weaving in between students and Skrewts, letting out an occasional blast and trying to sting anything that comes within two feet of it. I hurriedly chase after it, making my way through students, and occasionally jumping over Skrewts in my rush to catch mine. I manage to catch up with the Skrewt, and jumping out of the way of several blasts, I grab onto the leash quickly.

It tries to drag me along with it, but I dig my heels into the ground, determined not to let it win this time. The Skrewt struggles to break free, but I tighten my grip on the leash so much that my knuckles turn white, digging my heels even deeper into the ground. I let out a shaky breath, letting out a noise of frustration and struggle. This is going to be a long class...

When Hagrid had talked about taking the Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk, he'd made it sound as simple as taking a leisurely stroll through a meadow. And, well,  _this_ is no leisurely stroll through a meadow...

By the time the class ends, my Skrewt and I have raged a terrible battle against one another, but the proof is only one me. My entire body has bruises, cuts, and burns from trying to tame the Blast-Ended Skrewt. I can feel sweat trickling down my forehead, despite the chilly weather. As I struggle to drag the Skrewt to its crate, I think bitterly that Hagrid is really lucky I like him so much, otherwise there's no way I'd be doing this...

"Ah, you got one o' the rowdy ones, Hazel," Hagrid remarks, noticing how much I'm struggling with it, and coming over to help me.

 _No kidding_ , I think.

"Thank you," I say gratefully, as Hagrid takes the Skrewt off my hands.

"You did pretty well, though," Hagrid adds, after wresting the Skrewt into its crate. "Don' seem to be hurt too bad... nothin' a couple o' simple remedies can' fix, anyway."

"Thanks," I say, accepting his praise, putting on a smile, so he didn't think that I positively hated doing this.

I hurry up to the castle to get cleaned up, removing my cloak and fanning my face once inside.

"Oooh, ickle Knighty-wighty is hot, is she?" a singsong voice calls loudly.

I turn around, and just as I do, receive a water balloon right on my head, drenching me in cold water.

"Peeves!" I scream furiously, pushing my sopping wet hair out of my face.

"I was just doing ya a little favour," he sings, floating through the air quite serenely. "No need to thank me, dearie."

I glare up at him, before letting out a noise of disgust and turning away from him. I don't bother to argue with him or let my anger out on him. It never works with Peeves.

"I'm going to go dry off and change. I'll catch up with you in a moment," I tell Harry and Hermione, before setting off the marble staircase carefully, trying not to trip.

I'm so focused on not slipping, that, once again, I forget to skip the trick step, and my foot sinks right through. I cure violently, not even bothering to keep my voice down in my frustration. But my heart drop when Professor McGonagall comes walking down the corner, looking around.

"Miss Knight!" she reprimands, upon seeing me. "It is no acceptable to use such language! Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Sorry, Professor," I say, almost automatically, in a monotone voice.

I wonder dully for a moment if McGonagall's going to walk away and simply leave me here, until she hurries forward and offers her hands. I take them, and she pulls me out of the trick step.

"Thank you," I say, looking up at her sheepishly.

"Why are you wet?" she asks me abruptly, frowning.

"Peeves, Professor," I reply. "He threw a water balloon at me..."

"Again with the water balloons?" Professor McGonagall exclaims in exasperation. "Very well, I shall have a word with Professor Dumbledore. In the meantime, I suggest you dry yourself off."

I nod, and hurry up the rest of the steps, still watching my step carefully. I sweep through the corridors, leaving a dripping trail behind me. My clothes feel very heavy because of the wetness of them, and my desire to change increased. I'm just thinking that I ought to hurry up for lunch, when I slip and fall flat on my back.

"Typical," I mutter crossly under my breath, propping myself up on my elbows and rubbing the back of my head, groaning in pain.

"Are you all right?" a voice asks, and I look up to see a tall figure towering over me.

Cedric Diggory is standing over me, wearing a look of concern and a bit of amusement on his handsome features.

"Just perfect," I reply sarcastically, my tone quite a bit ruder than I would've usually made it due to my bad mood.

A slightly confused smile crossing his face, he holds out a hand to help me up. I take it, and he helps me up to my feet. Suddenly, I feel quite guilty for my behaviour. Cedric had been genuinely asking if I was all right, and I had to be rude about the whole thing...

Before I can say any word of apology, however, he speaks.

"Why are you wet?" he asks, repeating McGonagall's previous question.

"Peeves," I reply simply, and Cedric seems to understand immediately.

We stand in awkward silence for a moment, avoiding each other's gaze.

"Congratulations on becoming champion, by the way!" I add, grinning at him.

"Thanks!" he says happily, a grin crossing his face. Then it turns into an almost secretive expression. He lowers his voice, asking me. "You know, you're pretty close with Harry, aren't you?"

"Yes," I reply slowly, my eyes narrowing slightly. I have a funny feeling I know just where this is going.

"Did he enter his name in the Goblet of Fire?" he asks curiously.

"No," I snap, and my guilt disappears. "And it'd be a great help if you'd get your House to stop acting like he just committed some sort of crime. He said he didn't enter, and he's telling the truth."

"You don't understand," Cedric says immediately.

"What's there to understand? Your entire bloody House is being rude to Harry! It's not exactly a difficult concept to grasp!"

"I didn't start that!" he insists earnestly. "I tried to get them to cut it out, but they wouldn't listen!"

I raise an eyebrow at him, looking at him disbelievingly. But I let out a sigh when I decide he's telling the truth.

"Look, I'm sorry," I say, rubbing my face blearily. "I've been a git to you this entire time..."

"It's fine," Cedric says, shrugging. "I'll try to get them to lay off, but they're really upset with him..."

"Right. I've got to go. You know..." I gesture to my wet body. "I'll see you later, Cedric."

"Bye," he waves me off, and turns the other direction.

I watch him as he leaves, silently praying that I'll bump into him again, giving me the chance to show the, well,  _kinder_ side of me. Sighing, I hurry the rest of the way up to Gryffindor tower without interruption. Once inside the girls' dormitory, I pull my robes over my head, taking it off, doing the same with the rest of my clothing.

I towel myself off, wincing whenever I go over any of the burn marks, bruises, or cuts. Once completely dry, I hurry over to my trunk, getting a cream that was good for most minor wounds. I take a generous amount, rubbing it into the injured parts of my body. There's immediate relief, and I let out a contented sigh. I quickly change into fresh clothes, grab my bag, and hurry out into the common room, thinking that if I hurry up, I might still be able to eat a bit, my rumbling stomach encouraging me to walk quickly.

 

***

 

A few days later, Harry, Hermione and I walk to Snape's dungeon for Potions. I prepare myself for spending a second class whispering "ignore them, ignore them, ignore them" to Harry, along with Hermione, whenever the Slytherins or Snape attempt to torment him, which they seem to be intent on doing since Harry became one of the Schools champions. When we arrive at Potions, we find all the Slytherins already waiting in line, each of them wearing a large badge on the front of their robes.

For one insane moment, I think that they're wearing S.P.E.W. badges - until I read the words written on each of the badges, written in luminous red letters that burn brightly in the dim lit passage: 'SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY - THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!'

You've  _got_ to be kidding me.

"Like them, Potter?" Malfoy asks loudly, smirking as Harry approaches. "And that's not all they do - look!"

He presses the badge into his chest, and the message disappears, only to be replaced by another one, which glows green: 'POTTER STINKS!'

The Slytherins all howl with laughter, each of them pressing onto the badge until the message 'POTTER STINKS!' shines all around the room. My eyes dart to Harry, desperately hoping that he won't do anything rash. Snape will be out any minute, we can all go into class, and maybe Harry can calm down a bit...

"Oh, very funny," Hermione says sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, all of them laughing harder than anyone else, "really witty."

"Want one, Granger?" Malfoy says, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

Anger courses through me more strongly than before, but I manage to keep calm. Harry, however, pulls out his wand in a heartbeat, and everyone scrambles out of the way, backing down the corridor. I, on the other hand, grab Harry's arm, trying to get him to see sense.

"Harry!" Hermione says warningly.

"Please don't," I whisper urgently. "You mustn't, it's not going to do anything, Snape's so nearby, too-"

"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy says quietly, cutting me off, whilst drawing his own wand. "Moody's not here to protect you now. Do it, if you've got the guts-"

For a split second, they simply stare into each other's eyes. Harry shakes my hand off his arm. Then, at exactly the same moment, they act.

"Furnunculus!" Harry yells.

"Densaugeo!" Malfoy screams.

Jets of life shoots from both wands, hit each other in mid-air, and ricocheted off in different angles - Harry's hits Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hits Hermione. Goyle bellows in anger, putting his hand to his nose, in which large, ugly boils have sprouted - Hermione, whimpering in panic, clutches her mouth.

"Hermione!"

Ron, who'd been very quiet during this entire scene, hurries forward to see what's wrong with her. I can see Ron dragging Hermione's hand away from her face. The sight isn't very pretty... Hermione's front teeth, already quite a bit larger than normal, are now growing at an alarming rate. She starts looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongate towards her chin; she feels them and lets out a terrified cry.

"And what's all this noise about?" a soft, deadly voice says.

Snape has arrived.

"Oh, _now_ you show up," I mutter angrily.

The Slytherins all start explaining at once, and Snape points a finger at Malfoy, and says, "Explain."

 _Of course,_ I think furiously.  _Pick Malfoy, the one who definitely won't be telling the truth._

"Potter attacked me, sir-"

"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouts, and I nod indignantly.

"-and he hit Goyle - look-"

Snape examines Goyle, whose face now looks quite like something that would be in a book on poisonous fungi.

"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape says calmly.

"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron says. "Look!"

He forces Hermione to show Snape her teeth - Hermione keeps trying to cover it with her hand, which is proving to be very difficult, since her teeth have now grown past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls are doubled up in silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back. I give them a particularly rude hand gesture from behind Snape's back, not quite caring if Snape sees me, in any case.

Snape looks coldly at Hermione, before saying, "I see no difference."

Hermione lets out a whimper. Tears forming in her eyes, she turns on her heel and runs, runs all the way up the corridor and out of sight. At this, hatred rushes through me more than ever.  _He's_ supposed to be a  _teacher_.  _He's_ supposed to be the mature one here. I completely forget about keeping my temper under control.

For this reason, it's really quite lucky that Harry and Ron start shouting at Snape at precisely the same moment as I do; lucky that our loud voices echo so much in the stone corridor that, in the confused din, it's impossible for Snape to understand exactly what I'm calling him. Unfortunately, however, he seems to understand the gist of what we're saying.

"Let's see," he says, in his silkiest voice. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, and a detention each for Potter, Weasley, and Knight. Now, get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detention."

My ears are ringing, the urge to hex Snape into oblivion stronger than ever. I walk past Snape, trying to swallow my anger.

"The filthy little Mudblood deserved it," Parkinson hisses in my ear as I pass by her.

Hardly thinking about what I'm doing, my foot stops onto hers. An action that I imagine, with much satisfaction, ought to be very painful with my heavy combat boots. Parkinson cries out in pain, and, most unfortunately, Snape doesn't miss a thing.

"You've just bought yourself a week's worth of detention, Knight," Snape informs me, black eyes glittering maliciously, some savage triumph in his expression.

"Did I get a good deal on-" I begin to say, but Ron nudges me.

I suppose I should be grateful for his stopping me. Snape would probably take a bunch of points off Gryffindor, and who knows how many more detentions he'd give me. I settle on glaring at Snape furiously for a moment, before stomping towards the back of the classroom with Harry and Ron. Harry slams his bag on the table, and I throw myself onto the chair next to him, still fuming.

When Ron turns to sit with Dean and Seamus, my anger temporarily disappears, to be replaced by shock. I'd completely forgotten that Harry and Ron aren't speaking to each other. In their mutual hatred for Snape, everything had seemed to be back to normal.

"Antidotes!" Snape says, looking around the room, his eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then, we will be selecting someone on whom to test on."

His eyes drift to Harry, and my eyes narrow. He's going to poison him. Trying very hard not to simply walk up to Snape, and stomp on  _his_ foot, I try to reassure myself that he can't possibly  _actually_ poison a student, though I know very well that, knowing Snape, he would have no problem with doing such a thing.

A knock the dungeon door takes me away from my thoughts. It turns out to be Colin Creevey; he edges into the room, beaming at Harry, and walks up to Snape's desk at the front of the room.

"Yes?" Snape says curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm suppose to take Harry Potter upstairs."

Snape stares down at Colin, causing the latter's eager face to fade.

"Potter has another hour of Potions to complete," Snape says coldly. "He will come upstairs when this class is finished."

Colin goes pink fairly quickly.

"Sir - sir, Mr. Bagman wants him," he says nervously. "All the champions have to go, I think they have to take photographs..."

I desperately wish that Colin had said just about anything but those last few words. I glance almost automatically at Ron, but he doesn't catch my eye. He's staring very determinedly at the ceiling, and I can tell that he's becoming more and more convinced that Harry enjoys the attention he gets.

"Very well, very well," Snape snapped. "Potter, leave your things here, I want you back down here later to test your antidote."

"Please, sir - he's got to take his things with him," Colin squeaks. "All the champions..."

"Very well!" Snape says angrily. "Potter - take your bag and get out of my sight!"

I watch Harry's back as he quickly exits, feeling sympathetic for the embarrassment he must be feeling, but relieved since Snape won't be able to poison him now. However, as Harry closes the door and I look away, Snape catches my eye. Judging by the look he's giving me, I'm his Plan B. Trying not to show my nervousness, I set to work, focusing harder than I ever had in Potions.

Finally, by the end of the class, I'm just about finished brewing my antidote. I keep looking at the textbook, the instructions on the board, and my potion. I've re-read every instruction thrice before performing it, and it looks as the textbook and the board says it's supposed to. All the same, if I've made some silly little mistake...

Snape picks up a small vial, and looks me directly in the eye before speaking.

"Now," he begins, his lip curling unpleasantly, "let's see how well Miss Knight has prepared her antidote, shall we?"

He walks agonizingly slow towards me, as thought giving my fear as much time as humanely possible to increase. Finally, he's right in front of me, and I have to look right up at him. I pray that my nervous expression doesn't show, and that Snape is merely smirking because he thinks that my antidote won't be any good.

He holds out the small vial for me to take, and, my arm extending slowly, I take it from him. I look down at the small vial, my heart beating wildly from nervousness, before looking back at Snape, as though expecting him to tell "APRIL FOOL!" and tell me that I don't have to take it. Of course, however, Snape does no such thing, so I take the stopper of the vial in my hands, and pry it off. Again, I simply look at the contents of the vial.

"Go on, then, Knight," Snape says, making me look up at him. His expression makes me sick.

Just as I'm about to put the poisonous liquid to my lips, the bell rings. Relief washes through me, and I could sing from happiness. I quickly stopper the vial.

"Ah, rotten luck - I was so looking forward to it! Too bad, guess we'll have to move on," I say, practically shoving the vial into Snape's hand.

I gather my stuff at top speed, and practically run out of the classroom, before Snape can call me back. I don't stop hurrying until I'm out of the corridor outside Snape's classroom. Finally I slow down, taking deep, relaxing breaths, truly appreciating how lucky I am.

"Talk about a close call, eh?" Ron says, catching up, and grinning at me.

"Tell me about it," I agree, nodding earnestly.

"You should've seen Snape's face when the bell rang and you dashed out like that," Ron says, looking extremely amused. "He was furious! He looked like he just swallowed a load of undiluted Bubotuber Pus."

I let out a laugh at that, imagining the thought of that.

"Also, we've got to do our detention tomorrow night, Snape's office," Ron adds, suddenly looking disgusted and disgruntled. "Unbelievable little dickhead."

"At least you've only got one detention. I've got a week's worth!" I exclaim, the horrible truth of it at last sinking in; before I had been too angry for anything to register in my mind except for the fact that I hate Snape, and I didn't care much about being punished, either.

"Well, it was worth it," Ron points out. "The look on Parkinson's face when you stepped on her foot-"

He then breaks into a ridiculous impression of someone hopping around one one foot, and he puts a look on his face that I suppose is meant to portray pain, but I honestly think he's trying to make himself look as stupid as possible to mock Parkinson. I burst into fits of laughter, and then slap his arm lightly and repeatedly, trying to stifle my laughter.

"Stop it, Ronald, you're embarrassing yourself," I say, giggling.

Laughing, Ron stops his impression of Parkinson.

"I was thinking of visiting Hermione for a moment before dinner," I say. "You know, see how she's doing and if she's got her teeth fixed yet. I reckon Madam Pomfrey can mend it in about a minute, but you never know. Wanna come?"

"Yeah, all right," Ron agrees, nodding.

We head for the hospital wing, the clump of people slowly thinning, as most people are heading for the Great Hall for dinner, but we're going to the hospital wing, a completely different part of the castle.

Our trip to the hospital wing doesn't turn out to take very long. When we see Madam Pomfrey, we tell her we'd like to see Hermione, but she insists that she's not done fixing up her teeth and that Hermione doesn't want any visitors until they're back to normal.

"But we're her _friends_! What do we care if her teeth go past her collar?" Ron demands impatiently. "Besides, it's not like we haven't seen them already-"

"Miss Granger does not want any visitors until her teeth are fixed up," Madam Pomfrey repeats firmly. "That means you too, Mr. Weasley, friend of hers or not. And I quite agree; I will not allow you to bring stress to students while they are in my care."

Unable to convince her to let us see Hermione, Ron and I turn back to go to dinner, feeling quite defeated and disgruntled. At dinner, Ron and I talk and laugh quite happily, until Harry enters the Hall. As Harry approaches the Gryffindor table, Ron suddenly looks very surly. When he notices that Harry caught my eye for a moment, his scowl deepens.

"I'll leave," he says moodily. "Don't let  _me_ get in the way."

"Ron, wait, no!" I call after him, feeling guilty, but it's no use; he ignores me, continuing to storm out of the Hall.

"Hi," I say miserably to Harry, as he takes the seat across from me.

"Sorry for ruining things for you," he says crankily as greeting.

"Oh, don't you go getting all surly, too! It's bad enough with  _him_  getting all moody and storming away without  _you_ doing it, too!" I snap.

We sit there in tense silence, none of us moving, with me glaring at Harry, and Harry avoiding my gaze. Finally, he looks back up at me.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Forget it," I say bracingly, strongly wanting to move on from the whole subject of Ron, since I know we'd get nowhere into ending the fight. "What did Bagman want you for?"

"Wand weighing," Harry replies moodily, and when I look at him in confusion, he dives into the whole event, including Rita Skeeter, her interview, and insisting to get single photographs of Harry.

I shake my head at the end of his story. "Unbelievable."

"I know," Harry agrees. "How was Potions, then?"

"Could've been worse," I reply truthfully. "Snape wanted to poison me since you were gone, but the bell rang before I could drink it, so I shoved the potion into his hands and ran for it."

Harry laughs at the last bit.

We continue talking about Rita Skeeter, and whether Snape'll ever get around to poisoning one of us, but my mind keeps wandering to Ron. By now, I'm quite certain Hermione's right. If Harry and Ron would simply talk to each other, things would get better. But in order for them to talk, they'll have to start being able to look at each other for longer than ten seconds, and not under the influence of anger. And I have the funny feeling both of them are much too proud to apologize to the other...


	28. The Article

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Article**

 

The next day, Harry tells Hermione and I about Sirius' reply, and about how Sirius would like to speak with him in the common room on November the twenty-second at one o'clock.

" _In_ the common room?" I ask incredulously. "He's not thinking of breaking into the school again, is he?"

Harry simply shrugs, looking as though he's wondering the same thing.

"Well, there aren't any Dementors around any more," Harry points out. "And nobody knows about him being an Animagus except for Dumbledore, and he knows Sirius is innocent..."

"I suppose so," I agree nervously.

"But we need to make sure the common room is empty by one o'clock," Hermione adds matter-of-factly.

With that, we spend a long time coming up with ways to make sure the common room will be empty by the time Sirius arrives. If worse comes to worse, we'll have to drop a bag of Dungbombs, but it probably won't come to that. If we're lucky, anyway.

The Daily Prophet article about the Triwizard Tournament is positively horrifying. It's not so much an article about the Tournament than a highly-coloured and mostly invented biography of Harry. Much of the front page is taken up by a coloured picture of Harry; the article itself are all about Harry, the names of Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum and squished onto the last line, and Cedric isn't mentioned at all. Some of the quotes about Harry are absolutely mortifying...

_I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me right now... yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it... I know nothing will hurt me during the Tournament, because they're watching over me..._

But Rita Skeeter did more than just that; she also interviewed other people.

_Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hazel Knight, a stunningly pretty girl in his year, who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school._

From the moment the article appears, Harry and I have to endure people - mainly Slytherins - quoting it as we pass and making sneering comments.

" _Stunningly pretty? Her?_ " Parkinson shrieks the first time I find myself face-to-face with her after the article had appeared. "What was she judging against - a toad?"

I calm myself down, resisting the urge to punch her in the face. I turn around to face her, my expression showing no emotion.

"If they were judging you against a toad, Parkinson, they wouldn't be calling you stunningly pretty, trust me," I retort, before continuing to walk in a very dignified manner, leaving her looking furious.

I don't like insulting people's appearances, but she can't expect me not to retort...

To make matters worse, the article has confirmed Ron's belief that Harry enjoys all the attention. During the detention we'd had together, I tried to get them to talk to each other, but they refused to even look at each other, much to my annoyance.

I'm not alone in being angry at the both of them. Hermione's positively furious, and we keep going back and forth between them, trying to get them to talk.

"I didn't start this," Harry insists stubbornly. "It's his problem."

"You miss him," Hermione argues impatiently. "And I know he misses you too."

" _Miss him_?" Harry says incredulously. "I don't  _miss him_."

But I can tell that is a downright lie.

Two days after the publication of the article, Fred walks over to Harry, Hermione and I on our way to dinner. I smile brightly at the sight of him. I haven't seen much of him over the past two days, not even in the common room. Fred, however, does not reciprocate my smile. My brow furrows slightly at this, but I shake it off.

"Hey, Freddie," I greet cheerfully.

"Hi," Fred says shortly.

He looks over at Harry, and it quite looks as if he has a lockjaw. Harry glances at me, looking bewildered, and I give him a clueless look. What's going on with Fred?

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Fred asks, then with a look at Harry, adds, quite rudely, " _Alone._ "

"Uh, sure?" I reply confusedly.

Immediately, he takes my wrist, and, gripping it very tightly, he drags me away, walking the opposite way of the horde of students heading for the Great Hall for dinner. All around me, I hear the sound of talking and laughing from students.

"Hey, come on, Weasley, you read that article, Knight is Potter's," someone calls. "Let go of her hand."

Quite a few people laugh. Fred, however, doesn't seem to find it as funny, which confuses me. I thought he'd be one of the people teasing Harry and I. He simply glares at that, tightens his grip on my wrist, and he continues to drag me away from all the people, moving quicker this time.

"Fred, cut it out, you're hurting me," I whisper to him, using my free hand to try and pry his hand off my wrist.

He turns around to look at me, and sees how tightly he'd holding me. His expression changes into a guilty one, and he lessens his grip, much to my relief.

Finally, when we're in a completely empty corridor, he turns to me, letting go of my wrist.

"Fred, what's up with you?" I blurt out, asking the question I've been wondering ever since he walked up to me.

"I was just about to ask you the same question," he replies, his angry expression quickly returning.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, confused.

"This!" he exclaims, pulling out a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ , and shaking it.

I stare at the thing cluelessly.

"I still don't understand what's got your wand in a knot," I inform him.

Fred opens it up impatiently, and then brandishes it at me for me to take.

"Fourth paragraph," he says.

My eyes scan down the page to the fourth paragraph. Upon reading the first sentence, I realize this is the article Rita Skeeter published about Harry. It's the paragraph about Harry and I. I don't need to read it again, I already know exactly what it says.

"All right, what about it?" I ask, looking up at him, still clueless.

"What happened to you and Harry only being friends?" he asks angrily.

"Nothing happened to it! You don't actually believe this, do you?" I ask him incredulously.

"Well, it's hard not to," he replies.

"How? I'm your friend, you should be believing me!" I exclaim. "You know Rita Skeeter! You've heard the lies she's said about your own father! How can you believe a word she says after that?"

"Well, when you go off and flirt with everything that breathes, it's not exactly hard to believe it!" he yells, his voice rising.

" _What_?" I ask furiously, my own voice rising to match his. "I don't - I'm not - I don't  _flirt_ with anyone!"

"Yes, you do! You lead on every single guy you meet!" Fred yells. "You make them think they've got a chance, but then you go and do something like  _this_!" he brandishes the article at the word 'this'.

"What are you talking about?" I shout. "I never lead anyone on!"

"You've lead  _loads_ of people on!"

"Oh, yeah? Name one!" I shriek furiously.

"M - it doesn't matter who!" Fred yells. "The point is if you're going to go out with Harry, at least be honest about the whole thing, and don't lead the entire rest of the world on!"

" _I am_ not _going out with Harry_!" I scream, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you that until you finally fucking get it?"

"When you're not lying about the whole bloody thing! When you spend nearly all your time with him, and  _everyone_ picks up on it, what else am I supposed to believe?"

" _Me_!" I shriek, about to cry from anger. "You're supposed to believe  _me,_ Fred! One of your best friends! Why would I lie to you about this?"

"Because you wouldn't want to see how I'd react or something stupid like that," he retorts. "I don't care if you're dating Harry, but don't go messing around with everyone you meet!"

"I do  _not_ go messing around with everyone I meet!" I yell, actually stamping my foot in frustration at the word 'not'. "You're acting the same way you did about the whole Jace thing! Why does this bother you so much, anyway?"

"Because I don't want my friends going around and leading on everything they see, you little whore!" Fred shouts.

I feel like Fred just slapped me. I stand there, staring at him in shock. My mind feels numb, and heavy silence settles in the corridor. Until Fred's words register in my mind. Unable to express how I feel with words, I simply stare up at him, unable to believe it. Fred looks as though what he'd just said is sinking in, as well. Finally, I manage to speak.

"Just - just leave me alone, all right, Fred?" I say quietly, before turning around and walking away quickly and quietly.

My heart is in my mouth, and it aches so fiercely that I can't feel anything but the pain. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I blink quickly, trying to hold them back. One tear, however, escapes, rolling down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, checking to see if anyone's there. Most unfortunately, someone is there.

"Aw, is wittle Knight crying?" Parkinson says, in a mock-babyish voice. "What's wrong, did your boyfriend break up with you?"

"Fuck off, Parkinson," I hiss, not in the mood to deal with this.

I continue to walk quickly through the corridor, and Parkinson calls from behind me, "Watch your language, Knight, it could get you in trouble one of these days!"

Not wanting to face any more people, I quickly find a secret passage, tap it once with my wand, and it opens up immediately. I enter, and it closes behind me. I collapse against the wall, sinking down onto the floor. Hugging my legs and burying my face into my knees, I let a few tears slip from my eyes, which quickly turn into a steady flow of tears. I try to keep my crying as quiet as possible, not wanting anybody - especially Fred - to hear and find me.

Finally, deciding to just head to my dormitory, I get to my feet, wiping the tears off my face. I exit the passage, and almost run into someone.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going," I apologize, looking down at my shoes so they couldn't see my tear stained face.

"It's fine - hey, are you all right?" Cedric Diggory's voice asks.

"Fine," I reply shortly, still looking down at my combat boots.

Clumps of my hair start to curtain over my face, something I've very grateful for, since it covers my face much better. This, however, is not enough to stop Cedric. He takes my chin in his hand, and gently forces me to look at him. I avoid his gaze, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see him looking intently at me, brow furrowed.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nothing," I reply immediately, looking at a spot over his shoulder.

He lets go of my face, and I quickly return to looking down at my shoes.

"You've been crying," he insists. "Something must've happened."

"Nothing happened," I snap. "Look, I've got a lot of homework to do. I'll catch you later, all right?"

"All right," Cedric says reluctantly, and I quickly head for Gryffindor tower, with absolutely no intention of doing homework.

As I walk, I can't help but wonder why Cedric was so genuinely concerned about what happened. I've hardly been much of a friend to him.

"Balderdash," I tell the Fat Lady dully, feeling vaguely shocked to find myself in front of her portrait so soon.

She swings forward on hinges, and I crawl through the portrait hole. Quite a few people have already returned from dinner. My eyes sweep around the common room, landing last on Fred. I quickly look away, and, pray that nobody will notice the tear stains on my face, stride quickly and quietly across the common room into the girls' dormitories.

As I climb the steps, I hear the door opening and closing behind me. I simply ignore it, continuing to walk up the stairs. That is, until the girl grabs my shoulder. Shocked, I turn around quickly and find Hermione.

"Come with me," she says in greeting, taking my hand and leading the rest of the way to the door labelled "Fourth Years".

She opens it, and closes it behind her.

"So," she prompts, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I answer immediately.

"Hazel, you can't possibly expect me to believe that," Hermione says impatiently. "It's obvious you've been crying."

I step over to the mirror, and find that she's very right. Tear tracks stain my cheeks, and my eyes are red and puffy. Sighing, I turn back to face her, gripping the dresser below the mirror very tightly, clawing the tips of my fingers into the wooden material.

"Fred," I finally reply. "We had another fight."

"I figured," Hermione says sympathetically. "He looked to be in an awfully bad mood when he went to talk to you. What did you fight about?"

"That stupid  _Daily Prophet_ article," I reply bitterly.

"What?" she asks in disbelief.

I dive into an explanation of events, ending with when I walked away from him, requesting for him to leave me alone. After I finish, my feet, feeling very heavy, wander over to my bed, collapsing on it.

"I can't believe he called you that!" Hermione exclaims, looking furious.

I don't give any sort of response, continuing to stare blankly up at the crimson canvas of my four-poster, my dark hair pooling around my head. Hermione goes off into a furious rant about Fred, and, though I feel myself agreeing with what she says, I don't say anything in return. Instead, I simply give noises that indicate that I'm listening and that I agree.

"Hermione," I finally say, once she'd finished her rant. "I think I want to get some sleep, all right?"

"Okay," she says, nodding. "Goodnight, Hazel."

"G'night, 'Mione," I reply, before closing the curtains of my four-poster around me.

However, I don't feel the least bit sleepy, and I haven't changed, either. I throw off my robes and my grey jumper, tossing them to the end of my bed, leaving me in my boots, skirt, and white blouse. I stare up at the canvas, lost in thought.

Hermione's rant made me wonder whether if I'm mad at Fred, or simply heartbroken. I have very bitter feelings for Fred now, but thoughts of him make a deep sadness fill me up. So, I suppose I feel both emotions for him. Something I desperately hate, since I feel both emotions so strongly that the combination of them makes me feel like I'm going to explode.

I hear the door slam, and assume that it's Hermione, who's off to go and finish her homework or whatever it is that she was doing before I came along. I take a moment to appreciate how much of a great friend Hermione truly is. She's always there for me. I do hope she knows how much I appreciate having her. I'd never had a girl best friend until Hermione cam along - or, indeed, any sort of friend that was a girl, nor had I ever had any desire to have one. I had great best friends already, and whether or not they were girls or boys really didn't matter to me. But Hermione had come along and shown me that I really needed one.

I turn over on my side, thoughts of Fred flooding my mind once more, making me feel annoyed. Why do I have to keep thinking of him all the time? He said what he thought of me, and we're better off not seeing each other any more because of it. Meaning I'm better off not thinking about him all the bloody time.

If only controlling my thinking of him could be that simple.

 

_***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*** _

 

Fred stood in the now completely deserted corridor, staring at the blank wall ahead of him blankly. He already regretted calling Hazel a whore, bitterly hating himself for letting his anger and jealously get the better of him.

' _She hates you now,_ ' a voice in his head said. ' _You blew it. You blew any chance you had with her. She probably doesn't even want to be friends any more._ '

 _I know,_ he told himself miserably.  _I know. Don't remind me._

Fred didn't know how long he stood there for, running over the scene in his head again and again. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he'd just keep to himself about his bitter jealousy. Why did he have to go and yell at Hazel about it? If he was honest with himself, he knew very well that Hazel didn't lead anyone on, and he chose to make himself believe that he stood any sort of chance with her. It was his own fault.

Finally, he started moving back to the common room, not in the mood to eat. Along the way, he found a Slytherin girl in about fourth year, with a face like a pug.

"Oh, is it you who made Knight cry? You know her, don't you?" she said. "I'll have to send you flowers as a thank for that."

"Who the fuck are you?" Fred asked rudely, but all he could think of were her words; had he really made Hazel cry?

"Pansy Parkinson, a girl who's very thankful for the good dead you did," she said, smirking.

Fred glared at her, calling her a few angry words, before continuing to storm off.

He had made Hazel cry. Hazel had cried, and it was because of him. His ears were ringing, and his hatred for himself rose like an angry hurricane. He likes a girl, and he goes off and makes her cry.

 _Smooth, Freddie,_ he thought bitterly to himself.

He entered the common room, and immediately flopped onto one of the armchairs by the fire, staring into the dancing flames without truly seeing it. The common room was mostly empty, as nearly everyone was at dinner, allowing him to think without disruption. This changed as people gradually started to return. Many started attempting to engage him in conversation, asking why he wasn't at dinner, or if he was up to pulling a new prank. However, his responses were so short and distant that people eventually gave up, moving away from him, wondering in hushed whispers what was wrong with him. Fred hardly cared.

"What's wrong, Freddie?" George asked him, being the only person who'd remained with Fred.

Fred was tempted to tell him nothing was wrong, but he knew that his twin would see right through that lie. But he didn't know exactly what to say. Fred also didn't want people to overhead, to spread it around, and for everyone to know that Fred fancied Hazel. If she was ever to find out how Fred felt about her, that wouldn't be the way he would want Hazel to find out.

Before Fred could give any sort of response to George's question, the portrait hole swung open, and Hazel stepped into the common room. Her dark eyes swept across the common room for a moment. They landed on Fred last. He quickly looked away, hoping she didn't notice he was looking. Still, he watched her out of the corner of his eyes as she quickly looked away, and went straight for the girls' dormitories, facing forward and not looking anywhere around the room.

Fred felt his heart sinking. He'd been half-hoping that perhaps Parkinson was lying, that Hazel hadn't been crying. It wouldn't be very hard to believe that she hadn't; Hazel rarely cried. He'd only ever seen her do it once. At the time, it had been he who had comforted her, who had made her feel better, even made her laugh. But it was very clear on her face that she'd been crying. There were tear tracks on her face, and her eyes were red and puffy.

"What d'you reckon is up with Hazel?" George asked him, forgetting the original question he had asked.

"That kind of has to do with what's wrong?" Fred admitted.

"Why?" George inquired. "Did  _you_ make her cry?"

Fred nodded miserably, watching as Hermione quickly followed Hazel into the girls' dormitories, undoubtedly to comfort her friend.

"What happened?" George said incredulously.

In a whisper, since he didn't want anyone else to hear, he explained what happened to George. At the end of the story, George looked at his twin, a slight frown crossing his face.

"Fred-" he began.

"I know it was stupid of me, I know she doesn't flirt with anyone, let alone everyone, and I know I shouldn't have called her a whore," Fred interrupted. "It just kind of slipped out. Honestly, I wasn't even angry at her, or anything. But I saw her with Harry... and - and I just kind of snapped."

"I don't know how you're going to get her to forgive you for this one, Freddie," George told him honestly. "You might have to kiss her."

"If only things were that easy," Fred replies, a grin crossing his face for the first time, and he could hear his twin chuckling.

After a few minutes, the door to the girls' dormitory opened and closed. Fred whipped around, hoping it to be Hazel, but it was Hermione. Fred turned back around, feeling both disappointed and relieved. Sure, he wanted to make Hazel forgive him, he wanted to forget today ever happened, but George had a point; what exactly was he supposed to say to her? How was he going to get her to forgive him?

Much to Fred's surprise, Hermione walked straight towards him, until she was standing in front of him, hands on her hips, glaring fiercely at Fred.

"Can I help you, Hermione?" Fred asks confusedly, putting on a bit of a smile.

"How dare you?" she hissed, looking furious.

"How dare I, what?" Fred asked, bewildered.

"Do what you did to Hazel," Hermione replied, her voice getting lower and more dangerous all the while.

"Look, I didn't mean to lose it like that, it just slipped out-"

"Slipped out?  _Slipped out_!" Hermione said incredulously, her voice growing a bit louder. "Things like that don't just slip out, Fred! I don't care how bloody jealous you were of Harry, you can't just-"

"I wasn't jealous!" Fred said indignantly, though he knew there was no point in denying it at this point.

"Oh, please, Fred," Hermione said impatiently.

"All right, so I was a little jealous," Fred mumbled.

"Well?" Hermione prompted impatiently, when Fred didn't say any more.

"Well, what?" Fred asks cluelessly.

"What are you going to do about it?" Hermione exclaimed furiously.

"What  _can_ I do about it?" Fred asked, starting to feel a bit annoyed. "Hazel doesn't want anything to do with me any more, does she?"

"It seems like she doesn't, yes," Hermione replied. "And she's quite right to feel that way, too!"

"So, what am I supposed to do if she doesn't even want to look at me?" Fred said, genuinely wanting Hermione to help him - she knew Hazel, didn't she?

"Pick her up and force her to listen to you again, if you've got to," Hermione said, shrugging.

"Could you help me a bit more, there?" Fred asked.

"No," she answered shortly. "The only way this is going to work is if you do whatever it is you're going to do yourself. It's not going to feel as real if you just do what I tell you."

"So, basically," Fred said angrily, though he knew very well that Hermione had a point, "you tell me that I have to make it up with Hazel, but don't tell me how?"

"Figure it out," Hermione said shortly, before turning shortly on her heel to walk away. However, she quickly stopped, and turned to face Fred once more. "And don't you  _ever_ call Hazel that again!"

"Don't worry, I won't," Fred mumbled honestly.

She gave no signs of hearing him, turning around, and flouncing across the room, to which she'd been working on some homework. He shook his head at how easily Hermione could focus into her work; it was always impossible for him to focus on things such as school work.

"So, what are you going to do, then?" George asked, who'd been simply observing the scene before him, not saying anything.

Fred turned to look at his twin for a moment, thinking. Hermione was right, as usual, about everything. He had to figure out some way to get Hazel to listen to him, which was going to prove to be difficult, if Hazel no longer wanted to have anything to do with him.

"I have no idea."


	29. Detention

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Detention**

 

Determined to stay away from Fred, whenever I see him, I take a detour, using other methods of getting around, even if that makes me late to class. One Transfiguration class, I find myself ten minutes late for the third time in a row, something McGonagall isn't very impressed by.

"This is the third time in a row you've been late for my class, Knight," McGonagall tells me, when I burst through the door, out of breath from running, my hair falling over my face, robes falling off my shoulder.

"I'm  - I'm sorry, Professor," I pant, fixing my hair and robes.

"I'm going to have to give you a detention," McGonagall informs me. "Now, sit down."

"All right, Professor," I say, and sit down beside Harry, hurrying to get out my homework.

After class, Professor McGonagall calls me back. I assume it's to tell me when my detention is.

"Yes, Professor?" I ask, stepping up to her desk, playing with a bit of my hair.

"Your detention will take place this evening at eight o'clock in my office," she informs me. "You'll be cleaning and sorting shelves."

"All right," I nod, happily noting that that's not too bad of a detention.

I turn to leave, and start walking to the door.

"And, Miss Knight?" McGonagall adds, and I turn around to look at her, already half way across the room. "Please do try and stop this habit you seem to be developing. You're not normally like this."

"I'll try, Professor," I say, nodding. "I'm just having a bit of an off - week."

Which is sort of true. And besides, I can hardly tell my Transfiguration teacher and Head of house that the reason I'm late to her classes is that I take long routes to her class so that I can avoid the guy I fancy, can I?

"Well, you'll do good to grow out of it," McGonagall says sternly.

"Yes, Professor,"

 

***

 

Ten minutes until eight comes much too soon for my liking, and, when I bid goodbye to Harry and Hermione, I make a mental note to finish my Potions essay when I get back.

I walk hurriedly through the corridors, not wanting to be late for the detention that I  _received_ for being late. I reach McGonagall's office two minutes before eight, and knock on the door.

"Enter," McGonagall's voice calls from the door.

I open up the door, and close it behind me, looking around the office. When I see a tall, red-haired boy, I nearly have a heart attack.

 _Please don't let it be Fred,_ I pray to myself,  _please don't let it be Fred, please don't let it be Fred._

When the boy turns around, I see, much to my relief, that it's only George. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to sigh in relief. I smile brightly at him; I've missed George a lot over the past couple days, but avoiding Fred meant avoiding George, as well.

"Start by sorting that shelf, over there, Miss Knight," McGonagall tells me, indicating at one in the far right corner.

I nod in understanding, and begin sorting the books. George and I keep sneaking glances at each other, making funny faces, trying to get the other to laugh. We only accomplish to have the other let out a stifled laugh, which makes McGonagall reprimand us, threatening to give us another detention if we don't smarten up.

I find myself feeling very grateful at George's behaviour. Whenever I'd seen George, or whenever he'd simply cropped up in my mind, I always worried whether he'd be resentful towards me, avoiding me because he was angry at me for being angry at Fred. But he didn't seem to have any problem with me, much to my relief.

A knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Enter," McGonagall calls, not looking up from the papers she's examining.

I look around as the door opens, and find a first year student, looking worried.

"Professor, there are two boys downstairs fighting about something," she says anxiously.

"They're duelling?" McGonagall asks, immediately looking up from her papers.

"No, it's a physical fight," the girls shakes her head.

"Thank you, Miss Allen, you may go," McGonagall says, and the first year nods and hurries away. As the door closes behind her, McGonagall turns around to look at us, looking stern. "Now, I'm going to go break up the fight. You two continue to sort shelves  _in silence,_ or it will be another detention for each of you. And you will be seperated."

"What're you in here for, anyway?" George asks, approximately ten seconds after McGonagall closed the door behind her, and the sound of her swift footsteps disappear.

"I was late to class for the third time in a row today," I reply, shrugging. "How about you?"

"Fred and I set off Dungbombs in Filch's office," he explains. "Filch wanted to murder us, but McGonagall swooped in and just gave us double detention."

"Ah," I say, grinning.

When George doesn't say anything, I look around, and find him studying me intently.

"All right, there, Georgie?" I say with a grin, trying to mask my discomfort.

"You know he didn't mean what he said, don't you?" he says.

"You weren't there," I say, sighing; did he have to bring up Fred? "Trust me, he meant it."

"C'mon, when you're angry you say a bunch of stupid things you don't mean," George insists. "You must've done it before."

I look away from him, back to the shelf I'm sorting, taking as long as possible, not saying anything. But my silence is as good as a confirmation.

"See? Besides, he  _told_ me he didn't mean it," George adds.

"Well, then, he lied," I blurt out impatiently.

"You've just proved my point," George says. "You were upset, so you said something you didn't mean."

"I'm not going to believe that he didn't mean it by someone else telling me," I say firmly. "He has to tell me himself. On second thought, tell him not to bother. I don't want to see him any more."

"Come on, you're being ridiculous!" George says.

"The only person being ridiculous is Fred!" I say hotly. "He completely overreacted, and he should've believed me, not that foul Skeeter woman-"

The sound of brisk footsteps growing louder and louder makes me stop talking abruptly. We quickly turn and continue to sort shelves, the door bursts open, and McGonagall strides into the office, followed by Warrington, and, to my complete and utter horror, Fred. Both of them are bearing many minor injuries, and Fred's nose looks broken, while Warrington's bleeding profusely. So they're the ones that were fighting.

"Explain yourselves," she says sharply, looking from Warrington to Fred.

"I was just minding my own business, and then Weasley over here comes up and starts insulting me. Trying to provoke me, I reckon," Warrington replies immediately. "So, I told him to piss off, and he just went completely wild and started attacking-"

"That's not what happened at all!" Fred protests. "He was the one that started it! He started insulting my friend. I told him to shut his mouth, but he kept on going and saying terrible things about her, so-"

"so he attacked me!" Warrington interrupted. "I was only defending myself!"

"Is this true, Weasley?" McGonagall asks severely, her gaze settling upon Fred.

"Well, yeah, but - but he was insulting my friend!" Fred says indignantly. "He was calling her a-"

"What Warrington was calling your friend is irrelevant," McGonagall says sternly. "Breaking out into Muggle duelling is not acceptable! Thirty points will be taken off from Gryffindor, and you will be receiving a double detention, Weasley."

Warrington gets a stupid, self-satisfied smirk on his face. Something that doesn't go unnoticed by McGonagall. She turns to look at him, an eyebrow raised very slightly.

"And you, Warrington, will be receiving a detention, as well. And thirty points will be taken off Slytherin."

"But, Professor, I was only defending myself!" Warrington protests.

"Be that as it may, Warrington, it is undeniable that you had started the fight, and you continued it, as well," McGonagall says firmly. "You'll be receiving a detention, and thirty points will be taken off Slytherin. Now, I suggest you return to your Houses."

They both turn around and exit the office, Warrington muttering darkly under his breath. As Fred passes me, my eyes wander up to his face, and, in spite of myself, I note that even when he's bruised and injured, he looks very attractive. My breath hitches in my throat as my feelings for Fred rush through me.

I give my head a little shake, looking away quickly, as though to shake off such thoughts. I can't go off and start liking Fred again. If I do, I'll fall for anything he says, and just end up hurt again. It's obvious how he feels about me. I mustn't go off and start liking Fred again.

 _But then again,_ a voice in my head points out.  _When did you ever stop?_

Around half an hour later, McGonagall inspects the shelves, and, upon deciding that they were organized, allows us to leave. The second George closes the door behind us, he turns to face me.

"So, what d'you reckon Fred and Warrington were fighting about?" George asks.

"I dunno," I reply, slightly caught off guard by the question; how exactly should I know. "Didn't Fred say Warrington was insulting one of his friends, or something?"

"Who d'you think it was?" George asks.

"Dunno," I repeat, shrugging. "Fred has a lot of friends, doesn't he? Just ask him once you get back to the common room."

Once in the common room, one look around the room shows that Fred is nowhere to be found. I mentally slap myself for the disappointment I feel. Even if I only want to see him out of curiosity of the fight, I shouldn't want to see him at all.

"I have to finish up some homework," I tell George, gesturing to the table I'd been working on before. "See you later."

"All right, see you," George says, waving.

Though, I can tell that if this fight between Fred and I kept on going, it'd be very unlikely for George and I to see each other much.

Hermione and Harry are still working when I arrive at the table. Well, Hermione is, in any case; Harry seems to be zoning out. When I sit down, I slam my Potions textbook particularly hard on the table, causing Harry to have a slight spasm, snapping out of his thoughts. I grin, laughing at his reaction.

"Thanks, Hazel," Harry says sarcastically, and I simply grin cheekily at him in response, before starting to work.

 

_***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*** _

 

Fred left Flitwick's classroom in a fairly good mood. He had been working so hard on cleaning up, that Flitwick had let him leave half an hour early. This wasn't something new, and it wasn't something Fred didn't expect. Flitwick loved him, he always let him get off easy.

"Hey, Freddie," a voice from behind called, and he turned to see Lee walking forward, a grin on his face. "I thought you were in detention. What, are you skiving off?"

"Flitwick let me out early again," Fred explained, grinning at the sight of his friend.

"See, that's why I love detention with Flitwick," Lee says, laughing.

"Yeah, I know, he always-" Fred began, but abruptly stopped talking when Warrington, a Slytherin in his year, very purposely, and very roughly knocked into his shoulder as he passed.

"Oi, watch where you're going," he said angrily, turning around to face his back, as Warrington and his friend sniggered.

"Sorry, Weasley, didn't see you," Warrington said, pretending to look apologetic.

"Piss off, you little bastard," Fred hissed.

"Watch your language, Weasley," he said, pretending to scold him.

"Then shut your mouth," Fred retorted, and he and Lee turned to walk away.

"Hey, I was thinking, maybe you could introduce me to your friend Hazel," Warrington called tauntingly. "You're friend with her, aren't you? She's real easy on the eyes, isn't she?"

Fred froze. He turned slowly to face Warrington again, trying to control his temper.

"You won't - she'd never even - you won't go  _near_ her, understood, Warrington?" Fred said, in a strained voice.

"I don't think you're really one to decide that, Weasley," said Warrington, smirking, obviously seeing how angry Fred was. "If Knight wants me, there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"She wouldn't - she'd never like scum like you," Fred spat.

"You never know," Warrington smirked. "Besides, she doesn't have to really like me. I don't like her; she's stupid, annoying, arrogant, pathetic, and a bloody whore, but hey, she's fit. Probably a good shag-"

But Warrington was unable to finish his next sentence, for Fred had launched himself at Warrington, and started hitting every bit of him he could reach. Warrington, being much bigger than Fred, flipped him over so that he was on top of him, and started returning blows.

Lee hurried forward to help his friend, but Fred growled, "Leave it! Leave it! He's mine! I'll show the little-"

Fred flipped him over once more, and started punching him very hard, swearing as he did.

"Don't you dare - don't you ever - say that - about Hazel - again - you dirty - piece - of - scum," Fred said furiously, his punches getting harder and harder.

Warrington returned the punches just as hard - if not, harder - but Fred hardly cared. All he knew was that he had to give Warrington as much pain as possible, make him pay about what he said about Hazel... nobody could ever say things like that about Hazel... nobody...

 _You did,_ a voice whispered in his head.  _You're just as bad. Worse, actually. You're supposed to be her friend..._

As the realization hit, a fresh new wave of anger and hatred hit him, and he took his anger at himself out on Warrington, punching and kicking him harder than ever before.

Fred hardly noticed several people watching the scene, looking to see what the commotion was about.

"What're they fighting about?" he could vaguely hear someone hissing.

"You know, that Fred Weasley's been really off lately," someone else said, quite a bit louder. "Or is that George?"

"You know, I reckon it's Fred."

"Should we go tell someone? A teacher?"

"They're going to bloody kill each other if we don't!"

"Blimey, remind me not to ever get on either of their bad sides."

Fred's punches got harder and harder, until he saw blood coming up on his fists. He looked down on Warrington's face; his nose was bleeding.

"What is going on here?" a voice exclaims, sounding furious.

This voice made Fred abruptly stop punching Warrington. He turned around, and, to his horror, saw McGonagall standing there, arms crossed, looking furious. Immediately, Fred leapt to his feet. Warrington followed quickly, trying, and failing, to look like he was the victim in the situation.

"This is absolutely - I can't believe-" McGonagall spluttered furiously. "My office, both of you."

The crowd that had been watching them fight quickly parted to let them pass. There was a murmur of talk, all wondering what the fight was about.

McGonagall led them to her office. When Fred walked in, he saw George, still doing his detention, and to his surprise, Hazel. They both looked around as the door opened, and i the back of his mind, Fred noted that this was the first time Hazel had properly looked at him in days. McGonagall walked around behind her desk, then turned back to face them, looking from Fred to Warrington.

"Explain yourselves,"

"I was just minding my own business, and then Weasley over here comes up and starts insulting me. Trying to provoke me, I reckon," Warrington answered immediately. "So, I told him to piss off, and he just went completely wild and started attacking-"

Fred felt furious at Warrington's lie. He hadn't expected any more of him, but he was not going to get off the hook for this...

"That's not what happened at all!" Fred protested. "He was the one that started it! he started insulting my - friend. I told him to shut his mouth, but he kept going on and saying terrible things about her, so-"

"So he attacked me!" Warrington interrupted. "I was only defending myself!"

"Is this true, Weasley?" McGonagall asked severely, her gaze settling upon him.

"Well, yeah, but - but he was insulting my friend!" Fred said indignantly. "He was calling her a-"

"What Warrington was calling your friend is irrelevant," McGonagall cut of sternly. "Breaking out into Muggle duelling is not acceptable! Thirty points will be taken off from Gryffindor, and you will be receiving a double detention, Weasley."

The stupid, self-satisfied smirk that Warrington was wearing at McGonagall's words gave Fred the almost irresistible urge to start punching Warrington again. Warrington's action did not go unnoticed by McGonagall, however.

"And you, Warrington, will be receiving a detention, as well. And thirty points will be taken off Slytherin." McGonagall said, raising an eyebrow slightly as she faced him instead.

"But, Professor, I was only defending myself!" Warrington protested.

 _You were doing a lot more than that, you fucking prat,_ Fred thought angrily.

"Be that as it may, Warrington, it is undeniable that you had started the fight, and you continued it, as well," McGonagall says firmly. "You'll be receiving a detention, and thirty points will be taken off Slytherin. Now, I suggest you return to your Houses."

Fred turned to leave, along with Warrington, who was muttering darkly under his breath. He felt very satisfied that McGonagall thought he deserved punishment, as well, though he didn't let it show on his face.

"You got off easy, this time, Weasley," Warrington said, once they were a corridor away from McGonagall's office. "If you ever try that again, I'll-"

Fred snapped. He took the front of Warrington's robes and slammed him against the wall, pulling out his wand and pointing it at his throat.

"Listen to me, Warrington," Fred hissed. "You ever say anything like that about Hazel - you ever go anywhere near her - ever try anything with her - and it'll be you who'll be getting a lot worse than a bloody nose and a couple of bruises."

Breathing heavily, Fred let go of Warrington, and strode away quickly, before he could do something stupid. He was dimly aware of the pain from the fight, but he ignored it.

"Hey, Fred, I heard you got in a fight with Warrington," a Gryffindor in his year that he knew by sight, but not my name called, as he entered the common room. "What about?"

"I just decided to teach him a lesson for being a prat," Fred said vaguely.

"Hey, I reckon your nose is broken," Lee said, hurrying forward and examining it. "Yeah, it is... here, I can fix it.  _Episkey._ "

Fred's nose felt very hot, then suddenly very cold. He reached forward to touch it gingerly; it felt quite normal.

"Thanks, mate," Fred said gratefully.

"You've got a bunch of bruises, too," Lee added. "Here, I've got something upstairs that's great for this stuff."

"All right," Fred said, and followed Lee upstairs to their dormitory.

"You went completely mental, you know," Lee said, as he handed Fred a sort of cream. "Remind me to never get on your bad side, won't you?"

Fred laughed as he stepped in front of the mirror and put on generous amounts of the cream on his face.

"I dunno, just - nobody should say that about Hazel," he shrugged. "Nobody."

"Hey, maybe that's how you can make it up with her," Lee said. "Tell her you were defending her honour. In fact, stop putting on that cream, that way you can show her your battle wounds."

Fred let out a laugh.

"You're a romantic genius, aren't you, Lee?"

"I sure am," Lee agreed with a grin.

Just as Fred was returning the cream to Lee, George entered the dormitory.

"Hey, George," they greeted, with a smile.

"So, what did Warrington say about your friend?" George asked, after returning the greeting. "Who is this friend, anyway?"

"It was Hazel," Fred replied, scowling at the thought of Warrington.

"And he called her stupid, annoying, arrogant, pathetic and a whore," Lee reeled off.

"The little prat," George said angrily.

"You know, I still think Hazel should forgive Fred for defending her honour," Lee piped up.

"Just so long as you can get her to look at you," George said. "I talked to her in detention, tried to convince her that you didn't mean anything. She really doesn't want anything to do with you any more, mate."

"I don't blame her," Fred admitted. Deciding not to be moody, however, he quickly added bracingly. "Whatever. I'll figure it out."

 _I hope,_ he added in his head.


	30. The First Task

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty: The First Task**

 

On Saturday, November the twenty-second there's a Hogsmeade trip. Something that I'm very grateful for, since I'm very eager to get out of the castle for a while. Hermione and I convince Harry into going, telling him that it'll be good to get away from the castle for a bit.

"What about Ron, though?" he says. "Don't you want to go with him?"

"Oh... well..." Hermione goes slightly pink, and we glance at each other nervously. "We thought we might meet up with him in the three broomsticks..."

"No," Harry says flatly.

"Oh, Harry, this is so stupid-" I begin.

"I'll come, but I'm not meeting Ron, and I'm wearing my Invisibility Cloak."

"Oh, all right, then..." Hermione snaps, "but I hate talking to you in that Cloak, I never know if I'm looking at you or not."

So Harry puts on his Invisibility Cloak in his dormitory, goes back downstairs, and together, we set off for Hogsmeade.

"... you're still here, aren't you, Harry?" I add in a whisper for the millionth time.

"Yes, I'm still here, Hazel," Harry replies, sounding annoyed.

"Well, I can't see you," I say indignantly. "You might have  wandered off and I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Come on, Harry, please just take off the Cloak for a bit," Hermione adds earnestly. "Nobody's going to bother you here."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry says. "Look behind you."

A witch with elaborate and strangely rigid curls, and a heavy jawed face, along with a photographer, steps out of the Three Broomsticks. Remembering Harry's description of her, I can tell that it's Rita Skeeter.

When they're gone, Harry says, "She's staying in the village. I bet she's coming to see the first task."

"She's gone," Hermione says, looking at the end of the street. "Why don't we go have a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, it's a bit cold, isn't it? You don't have to talk to Ron!" Hermione adds irritably, when Harry doesn't say anything.

The Three Broomsticks is packed, with mainly Hogwarts students, but also a variety of magical people I rarely get to see anywhere else. I suppose since Hogsmeade is the only all-wizard village in Britain, it's a bit of a haven for creatures like hags, who aren't as good at disguising themselves as wizards are.

As we head for a spare table in the corner, we pass a table where Fred, George, Lee, and Ron are sitting. I smile at George, Lee and Ron. When Fred opens his mouth to say something to me, I quickly turn to Hermione, regretting my decision to acknowledge the others.

"I'll go get the drinks, then, shall I?" I say, and then hurry off before she can say anything in reply.

I weave in between the large crowds of people, occasionally smiling at a familiar face, or receiving taunts about the  _Daily Prophet_ article, desperately hoping that Fred wouldn't pursue me, but at the same time, desperately hoping that he would, in spite of myself.

"Three butterbeers, please," I say to Madam Rosmerta, giving her a kind smile.

"Coming right up, dear," she says cheerfully.

As I wait for the drinks, I look around the shop, humming quietly and tunelessly, drumming my fingers on the counter. My eyes land on Jace, who's just entered the pub with a few friends. Grinning, I wave at him.

"Hi, Jace!" I say cheerfully.

"Hey, Hazel!" he calls back, smiling.

"Here you go," Madam Rosmerta says, handing me three butterbeers.

"Thank you," I say, handing her a handful of Sickles.

I make my way through the crowd of people and tables, clutching on to the bottles tightly, not wanting to drop anything. As I reach our table, I hand one bottle to Hermione, and another to Harry, with much difficulty, as he's invisible. Hermione pulls out a notebook, on which she had been keeping a record of S.P.E.W. members.

I can see my, Harry, and Ron's names at the top of the very short list. It seems so long ago that Hermione had burst into the common room, introducing the idea of S.P.E.W. for the first time, enlisting us as secretary, treasurer, and vice president.

"You know, maybe I should try to get some villagers involved with S.P.E.W.," Hermione says thoughtfully, looking around the pub.

"Yeah, right," Harry says. "Hermione, when are you going to give up on this spew stuff?"

"When house-elves have decent wages and working conditions," Hermione hisses back. "You know, I'm starting to think it's time for more direct action. I wonder how you get into the school kitchens?"

"No idea," Harry replies.

Hermione turns to look at me expectantly. I take a particularly long swig of butterbeer, taking as long as possible to replace it on the table, not quite wanting to answer the question she wants me to answer.

"It's in the basement," I finally say with a sigh, as Hermione gives no sign of relenting. "Near the Hufflepuff common room. Right under the Great Hall. There's a portrait of a bowl of fruit, you tickle the pear and it turns into a doorknob. But don't you go off and start harassing them about getting sick leaves," I warn her. "They're happy with the way things are!"

"They've been brainwashed to think they're happy!" Hermione says fiercely. "They'll be better off when they've got what they deserve."

I shake my head at her, before turning away, and taking another long sip of butterbeer. My mind wanders to Harry... the task is this Tuesday, and who knows what he'll be facing? Has he learned enough to know what to do? He'll be put on the spot, he'll have to use some serious quick thinking... of course, Harry's very good at thinking on the spot, but who knows what they'll have in store... I give my head a slight shake, trying to get rid of negative images filling my mind, each of them including Harry being seriously injured - or dead.

 _Don't think like that Hazel,_ I tell myself sternly.  _Just don't think about it._

"Look, it's Hagrid!" Hermione says suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

The back of Hagrid's enormous shaggy head emerges over the crowd. I feel myself wondering why I hadn't spotted Hagrid before, as he's so large, but soon see that he was bending low to talk to Moody. I watch as they get up to leave. Moody suddenly stops, staring over at our table. He mutters something to Hagrid, and they make their way across the pub to our table.

"All right, Hazel, Hermione?" Hagrid says loudly.

"Hello," Hermione says, smiling, at the same time I say, "Hi, Hagrid."

Moody, however, walks over to examine the S.P.E.W. notebook, and murmurs something under his breath. After a moment, it becomes apparent that he's talking to Harry. Can he see through Invisibility Cloaks with that magical eye, too?

Hagrid bends over to talk to Harry, muttering something in a low voice that I can't quite make out.

He straightens up, and says, "Nice ter see yeh, Hermione, Hazel," winks, and departs, followed by Moody.

"Why does Hagrid want me to meet him at midnight?" Harry wonders aloud, sounding surprised.

"He does?" Hermione asks, looking startled. "I wonder what he's up to? I don't know if you should go, Harry. It might make you late for Sirius."

"Well, a quick visit wouldn't hurt, would it?" I point out, slightly nervous. "I mean, it must be important, Hagrid never asks for any of us to visit him so late at night, does he?"

"No," Harry agrees thoughtfully. "No, he doesn't..."

As Harry, Hermione and I call it a day, and exit the Three Broomsticks to head back to the castle, I wonder what Hagrid wants Harry to visit him for, especially so late at night. Hagrid usually doesn't like us to visit after sundown... perhaps it's about the first task. Hagrid said he knew something about it, maybe he wants to lend Harry a hand...

 

***

 

Tuesday morning comes much too soon for my liking, and when I realize that the first task is today, I suddenly feel very queasy, as if it's me who has to face a dragon. The day rushes past way too soon that I feel as if it must be a dream. I had been walking into History of Magic five minutes ago, but suddenly it's lunch time... and McGonagall's taking Harry away... and suddenly everyone's heading down to a clearing where the First Task will be held.

My feet feel very heavy as I walk, looking ahead of me blindly, as it registers in my mind what't about to happen. Hermione and I have helped Harry in any way we could, staying into the late hours of the night, helping him to learn the summoning charm. The exhaustion from staying up late shows on our faces; there are light bags under our eyes, there's a dishevelled look about us, and all throughout the day we kept yawning and rubbing our eyes. But now we're wide awake and alert.

The performances of the other champions are a blur to me. I do manage to note that they all do reasonably well, though they all have their mess-ups. When Viktor Krum leaves the enclosure, however, I grip tightly onto the railing in front of me. It's Harry next... I wait breathlessly, and the whistle blows. He'll be down there at any moment, facing the monstrous Hungarian Horntail...

And then I see him, looking particularly small considering the fact that the stands rise high up above him. The crowd is dead silent, watching him carefully. Occasionally, some bolder people call out some cheers of jeers, but otherwise, no one makes a sound. I don't know how long I stand there for, watching Harry intently, my knuckles turning white from holding the railing so tightly, expecting the worst to happen, but hoping and praying for the best.

"YOUR WAND, HARRY! USE YOUR WAND!" Hermione bursts out, sounding a bit hysterical.

Immediately after Hermione's words, Harry raises his wand, and says something I can only just make out.

" _Accio Firebolt_!"

I hold onto the railing impossibly tighter, silently willing him to concentrate.

_Come on, Harry, concentrate, you can do this. You've got to. Come on, Harry, you can do this. You can. Just concentrate._

Suddenly, I can hear the whistling sound of Harry's Firebolt zooming, and, turning my head around to see it, my heart leaps. It had worked... it had worked. Harry jumps onto the Firebolt just as it zooms past him, just barely dodging the fire the Horntail had shot at him. Harry flies away, and the Horntail follows him, the dragon bursting through the stands where the teachers are.

"Well done, dragon!" Fred yells excitedly, seeing Snape and Rita Skeeter sprawled on the ground.

I understand the tactic. Coax the dragon away long enough to come back and get the egg. But will he be able to escape the dragon's wrath unscathed? What if it kills him?

 _Don't think like that, Hazel,_ I tell myself sternly, biting my lip nervously.

I don't know how long we all wait there, mostly silent and breathless. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Hermione clutching onto her face with her fingernails, and I dimly register the fact that she's probably going to have marks on her face from that. Just as I start becoming more and more convinced that the worst happened, I see a small speck in the distance, where Harry and the dragon had disappeared. It gradually becomes bigger and bigger, and when I squint to make out what it is, I discover that it definitely isn't the dragon. Everyone seems to come to the realization as soon as I do, and the crowd erupts into cheers and applause.

"YES! YES!" Hermione screams, and, in her relief, she turns and hugs me tightly.

I hug her back, relief washing through me. When we pull away, we watch as Harry scoops up the golden egg and holds it tightly in his hand. I can see him getting off his broom, walking out of the enclosure, stopping to talk to Hagrid, and Professors McGonagall and Moody.

"Come on, let's go and see him," I say, patting Hermione on the arm. I also note that there  _are_ red marks on her face.

Ron catches my eye, looking quite awkward.

"Would you like to come as well?" I ask him, quite a bit of coldness in my tone. "Or do you still think Harry's an attention-seeking prat?"

"Actually, no, I don't," Ron admits quietly.

"Then, come along and tell him that," I say, gesturing for him to follow. "Or your friendship'll be ruined forever."

He follows behind us, as we hurry through the stands to follow him out of the enclosure.

"Where is-?" Hermione begins to ask Hagrid, when we draw level with him.

"In that tent over there," he replies before she can even finish her question, jerking his thumb to indicate the tent's location.

We practically run to the tent, darting inside. We look around the tent for Harry, and, once we see him, we hurry forwards, and I fling my arms around him.

"You were amazing!" I breathe, before releasing him tentatively.

"Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione says squeakily. "You really were!"

Harry's attention, however, is solely on Ron. He's looking at Harry as though he's a ghost, his complexion suddenly pale.

"Harry," he says, very seriously, "whoever put your name in that Goblet - I - I reckon they were trying to do you in."

 _Well, it's about bloody time he thought so,_ I note.

It's as though the last few weeks didn't even happen. As though it's just after Harry had become champion, not just after the first task.

"Caught on, have you?" Harry says coldly. "Took you long enough."

Hermione and I look nervously between them, praying that another argument won't erupt. Ron opens his mouth uncertainly, and I find myself both hoping and expecting him to apologize.

"It's okay," Harry says, before Ron can say anything. "Forget it."

"No," Ron says. "I shouldn't've-"

"Forget it," Harry repeats firmly.

Ron grins nervously at him, and Harry reciprocates the grin more confidently. Hermione, on the other hand, bursts into tears.

"There's nothing to cry about!" Harry says, utterly bewildered.

"You two are so  _stupid_!" she shouts, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before any of us can stop her, she gives all of us a hug, and dashes away, positively howling.

"Barking mad," Ron comments, shaking his head.

"Well, she's got a point," I say, grinning. "You two  _are_ stupid."

"Says you," Harry retorts, laughing.

"C'mon, they'll be putting up your scores," Ron says, chuckling.

We duck out of the tent, Ron giving him a summary of the other champions' performances, talking quickly. The judge's table comes into view, the raised seats draped in gold. Madame Maxime raises her wand, and a long silver ribbon shoots out of it, twisting into a figure eight.

"Not bad!" Ron says, as the crowd applauds. "I suppose she took marks off for your shoulder..."

Mr. Crouch next. A number nine shoots into the air.

"Oh, you're doing really well, Harry!" I exclaim, elated, while Ron thumps Harry on the back.

Dumbledore puts up a nine, as well. The crowd cheers harder than ever, and so do Ron and I.

Ludo Bagman puts up a ten.

"Ten?" Harry says in disbelief. "But... I got hurt... what's he playing at?"

"Harry, don't complain!" Ron yells excitedly, and, though I do admit that something's off about Harry getting a ten, I find myself agreeing with Ron.

And, finally, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, then a number shoots out of his wand - four.

"What?" Ron bellows furiously. "Four? You lousy, biased scumbag, you have Krum a ten!"

"I bet he only paused to add things up so that you wouldn't beat his champion, Harry!" I add furiously. "So you wouldn't beat  _precious Krum_!"

Harry, however, does not protest at all to Karkaroff's score.

"You're tied in first place, Harry! You and Krum!" Charlie Weasley says, hurrying to meet us as we head for the school. "Listen, I've got to run, I've got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I'd tell her what happened - but that was unbelievable! Oh yeah - and they told me you've got to hang around for a few more minutes... Bagman wants a word, back in the champions' tent."

Ron and I assure Harry that we'll wait for him, so he turns and sets off for the tent. A few minutes later, Harry rejoins us, and we start to walk around the edge of the forest, talking hard, as Harry wants to hear about the performance of the other champions in more detail. As we round the clump of trees, a witch leaps up from behind us, making me jump.

It's Rita Skeeter. I roll my eyes, but she seems to take no notice. She's wearing acid green robes today, which blends quite well with the quill she's holding.

"Congratulations, Harry!" she says, beaming. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel now, about the fairness of scoring?"

"Yeah, you can have a word," Harry replies. "Goodbye."

With that, we continue our walk back up to the castle, me beaming at Harry.

 

***

 

Harry, Ron, and I catch up with Hermione, and we head to the Owlery to find Pigwidgeon, so that Harry can send a letter to Sirius saying that he got through the first task unscathed. On the way, Harry fills Ron in about what Sirius had told him about Karkaroff. He's quite shocked at first to hear that Karkaroff had been a Death Eater, but by the time we reach the Owlery he declares that we should've suspected it all along.

"Fits, doesn't it?" he says. "Remember what Malfoy said on the train, about his dad being friends with Karkaroff? Now we know where they knew each other. They were probably running around in masks together at the World Cup... I'll tell you one thing, though, Harry, if it was Karkaroff who put your name in the Goblet, he's going to feel really stupid now, isn't he? Didn't work, did it? You only got a scratch! Come here - I'll do it-" Pigwidgeon seems to be so excited at the prospect of a delivery that he keeps flying around and around Harry's head, hooting incessantly. Ron snatches him out of the air and holds him while Harry ties the letter to his leg.

"There's no way any of the other tasks are going to be that dangerous, how could they be?" Ron continues as he carries Pigwidgeon to the window. "You know, Harry, I reckon you could win this tournament, I'm serious."

Hermione, however, leans against the Owlery wall, and folds her arms, frowning at Ron.

"Harry's got a long way to go before he finishes this tournament," she says seriously. "If that was the first task, I hate to think of what's coming next."

"Right little ray of sunshine, aren't you?" Ron says. "You and Professor Trelawney should get together sometime."

He throws Pigwidgeon out the window. He plummets twelve feet before being able to pull himself back up again. The letter looks much longer and heavier than usual. I imagine Harry couldn't resist giving Sirius a blow-by-blow account of how he'd managed to fool the dragon.

"Well, we'd better get downstairs for your surprise party, Harry - Fred and George should have nicked enough food from the kitchens by now."

 

***

 

Sure enough, when we enter the common room, it explodes in cheers and applause. There are mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every surface; Lee lets off some Filibuster's Fireworks so that the air is thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas, who's a very good artist, puts up some impressive new banners, most of which showing Harry zooming around the Horntail's head, though a couple show, much to my discontent, Cedric Diggory with his head on fire.

We each help ourselves to food, and sit down. I find it hard to believe that perhaps an hour before I'd been sick with worry and anxiety. I know Hermione's right, that the Tournament is far from over, but it's hard to worry right now, when the first obstacle is out of the way, and the second won't come around for ages...

"Blimey, this is heavy," Lee says, picking up the golden egg, and weighing it in his hands. "Open it, Harry, go on! Let's see what's inside!"

"He's supposed to work out the clue on his own," Hermione protests swiftly. "It's the Tournament rules..."

"I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own, too," Harry mutters to her, and she grins guiltily.

"Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!" several people echo.

Lee passes Harry the egg, and Harry digs his fingernails into the groove that runs all the way around and pries it open. It's hollow and empty, but the moment he opens it, a horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, fills the room.

"Shut it!" Fred bellows, hands over his ears.

"What was that?" Seamus asks, staring at the egg as Harry shut it again. "Sounds like a banshee... maybe you've got to get past one of those next, Harry!"

"It sounds like someone being tortured!" Neville exclaims, who's gone very white and spills sausage rolls all over the floor. "You're going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!"

"Don't be a prat, Neville, that's illegal," George says. "They wouldn't use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing... maybe you have to attack him while he's in the shower, Harry."

Well, that certainly puts a horrifying image in my mind.

"Want a jam tart, Hermione?" Fred offers.

The moment Fred comes into sight, I hurriedly look down, playing with the hem of my shirt, silently praying to just disappear through the floor. I try to tune out the entire conversation, but I can still hear what they're saying.

"It's all right. I haven't done anything to them. It's the custard creams you've got to watch-" There's a choking noise, and Fred's laughter sounds, making my heart flutter.

_Stupid feelings._

"Just my little joke, Neville..."

However, after a few moments, the room bursts into fits of laughter, and I look up to see that Neville has turned into a canary. I join in on the laughing.

"Oh - sorry, Neville!" Fred shouts over all the laughter, sounding as though he's trying to fight back laughter himself. "I forgot - it was the custard creams we hexed-"

Within a minute, however, Neville moults, and once the feathers fall off, Neville looks completely normal. He even joins in on the laughing.

"Canary Creams!" Fred shouts to the excited crowd. "George and I invented them - seven Sickles each, a bargain!"

I don't go to bed until one o'clock, and before I do, I hug Harry one more time, congratulating him on his performance in the task, before hurrying upstairs, excited to sleep properly, something I haven't done in days.


	31. Cassius Warrington

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty-One: Cassius Warrington**

 

December brings wind and sleet to Hogwarts, which makes me very grateful of the castle's fires and thick walls every time I pass the Beauxbatons carriage, or the Durmstrang ship. The beginning of December also brings new worries, as Hagrid agrees to meet with Rita Skeeter to discuss his Blast-Ended Skrewts, which are getting bigger, and more vicious all the time. As long as Hagrid didn't get those Skrewts illegally, it'll be fine...

What feels like an hour later after dinner, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I emerge from the kitchens, having just paid a somewhat pleasant visit to Dobby the house-elf, who's been working at Hogwarts for around a week. We also meet Winky, who's not taking being sacked by Mr. Crouch very well, even though it happened ages ago.

Homework turns out to be a particularly irksome thing that evening. I'd forgotten about a rather nasty History of Magic essay, it's due tomorrow, and I don't know a thing about goblin wars.

"Do any of you know anything about this?" I ask Harry and Ron, gesturing to my blank parchment, as they're both working on the same essay.

"Nope," they reply in unison.

"Wish Hermione hadn't gone to bed," Ron says. "I bet she did that on purpose, thought we'd copy off her."

"Well, _you_ would have," I point out.

"And you wouldn't have, then?" Ron says in disbelief.

" _No_ ," I reply, slightly defensive. "I just would've asked for her help."

"Right," he mumbles. "' _Help_ '"

"I'm going down to look in the library," I say after a moment. "See if there's something there... be right back."

Without further ado, I set off for the library, not exactly hiding, but feeling glad that I don't bump into anybody, since I'm not exactly supposed to be out this late. Finding a book that I think will be helpful enough, I leave the library, feeling particularly triumphant with my find.

"Oi, Knight!"

I look around at who it is, and immediately frown.

"What d'you want, Warrington?" I ask coldly, crossing my arms.

"Well, a nice snog session would be nice - and a bit more than that wouldn't be too bad," he concedes.

"Excuse me?" I say furiously, glaring fiercely at him.

"Ah, c'mon, Knight," he says, laughing. "I know you're dating Potter and all, but he doesn't have to know anything, does he?"

"I'd rather snog a Blast-Ended Skrewt, you foul little-"

"Watch your mouth, Knight," he cuts me off.

He walks towards me slowly, and, automatically, I walk backwards, until my back is against a wall, Warrington much too close for comfort. I become very aware that Warrington is much bigger and stronger than I am, but I glare up at him furiously all the same.

"How about just one little kiss, at least?" he asks. "Thought, I admit, once you get one kiss, you'll want a lot more."

"Not happening, Warrington," I scoff, and push him away from me.

"Come on, don't be like that," he says, stepping closer to me once more.

Without thinking, I slap him in the face, and push him off again, and while he's distracted, dart away from hi. When he looks back at me, he looks positively furious.

"You're in for it now, Knight," he snarls, and, without warning, punches me in the jaw.

I let out a strangled yelp, clutching my jaw and trying very hard to blink back tears from the pain. Warrington slaps me, however, hissing at me not to make a sound. It becomes increasingly difficult to fight back tears, as he continues to hit and kick me. As he punches me in the nose, a cracking sound, and the new pain tells me that he's broken my nose.

"Hazel -  _you_!" a voice says furiously.

I turn my head and see a tall, red-headed figure. It takes me a moment to realize that it's Fred.

"You're getting your wish, Weasley," Warrington growls. "I don't want her any more. Filth like her isn't worth the time or struggle."

And he pushes me in Fred's direction so forcefully that I fall to the floor.

"Don't you - I  _told_ you to stay away from her, Warrington!" Fred says, positively shaking with fury.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Warrington shrugs, smirking. "I've no use for her, I don't care. I told you, she's not worth a damn-"

Whatever I'm not worth, I'll never know, for Fred suddenly punches Warrington so hard that he staggers backwards a bit. Before he can recover, Fred continues punching and hitting him, swearing and calling Warrington a lot of things. Warrington hits him back, punching and kicking with just as much force, but Fred acts as if he can't feel it.

Fred shoves him particularly hard, causing Warrington to fall to the ground, but Fred doesn't relent there. He continues punching him, hit hits getting harder and harder. It dimly registers that I need to stop this, instead of sitting around and watching lie an idiot.

I get to my feet, and stumble over to Fred. I grab his shoulder.

"Fred, please, just leave it," I say pleadingly.

"No! No - this little - this little - he deserves the worst - he deserves this and more-"

"Please, Fred!" I say more desperately. "It's not worth it, please!"

He still doesn't listen to me, so I grab his other shoulder with my free hand, and push him off Warrington, and force him to look at me directly in the eyes.

" _Please,_ Fred! Just leave it!" I plead.

He doesn't answer, just looks at me for a moment. Then, the anger fades from his dark eyes, and the worry that I was feeling moments before fades away from it.

Fred gets to his feet, still looking at me. I note the injuries on his face, and sadness and guilt rushes through me.

"You shouldn't have done it," I whisper, even though we're quite alone, except for Warrington, but he doesn't seem in any state to eavesdrop, anyway. "You  _really_ shouldn't have done it."

"Hazel, didn't you hear the things he was saying about you?" Fred says, looking at me in disbelief.

"It doesn't matter-"

"Of course it matters! Nobody can say things like that about you-"

"I do recall you saying things like that, at one point," I blurt out.

Fred shuffles awkwardly. It's quite weird to think that one moment, he was almost terrifyingly angry, and now he's awkward and quiet. I suddenly feel very guilty. Did I really have to bring that up at this moment?

"Right, I know I did, and I know it won't mean much to you now, but I'm really-"

"Save it," I find myself saying. "You don't have to apologize."

"Look, Hazel, I know I really messed up, but please just forgive-"

"No, Fred," I cut him off once more, and I take a step closer to him. "I mean, you don't have to apologize, because I already forgive you."

"Wha - what?" he asks, suddenly confused.

"I forgive you, Freddie," I say, letting out a small giggle. "It's not very difficult to figure it out."

"Just like that?" he asks. "You wouldn't look at me for ages!"

"Not 'just like that'," I reply. "Look at you! Look at what you did! You helped me out when I needed you to, even though I didn't necessarily deserve your help. Who knows what he would've done if you hadn't come along."

"Come off it, Hazel, of course you deserved my help - you deserve anyone's help," Fred says, frowning.

"I wouldn't look at you for ages," I say, repeating his previous words. "You really had all the right in the world to keep on walking and pretend you didn't see anything."

"You don't actually think I could've gone on like I didn't see anything, do you?"

"No," I reply, smiling up at him. "Which is exactly why I'm not mad at you any more."

"That's a relief," he mumbles, and a small laugh escapes his lips.

He takes a step closer to me, so that the space between us is very small. I fidget slightly, but don't break eye contact from him. It's funny to think that perhaps an hour ago, I still had the intentions of never speaking to Fred again, and now, I'm inches away from him, very close to kissing him.

Warrington lets out a loud groan of pain, causing me to jump, stepping a little away from Fred. I don't really want to have my first kiss with a battered, bruised, and injured Warrington groaning nearby, probably watching.

"I'd forgotten he was here," I mumble, blushing slightly.

"So did I," Fred admits. "It was such a nice time. Too bad he had to remind me he existed."

I laugh at that, before looking down a Warrington, curled up a little on the floor.

"We can't leave him like this," I insist, looking back up at Fred.

"Why do you care so much?" Fred sighs, sounding frustrated. "The filthy piece of scum doesn't deserve your concern."

"Well, don't you think it'll be a bit suspicious if a teacher finds him?" I point out.

"They won't know it was me," he argues.

"Like Warrington won't tell," I scoff. "He'll probably try to get you expelled."

"He'll go crying to Snape whether we move him or not," Fred points out.

"Well, still, it's best not to leave him out there," I insist.

"All right, fine. Have it your way," he shrugs, before taking out his wand, and saying, " _Mobliocorpus_!"

As though invisible strings are tied to Warrington's wrists, neck, and knees, he's pulled into a standing position, head lolling unpleasantly, like a grotesque puppet. He hands a few inches off the ground, his feet dangling.

Fred strides down the corridor, stopping short in the middle of a blank passage. He taps it rhythmically with his wand, causing Warrington to clam against the wall several times, grunting in pain each time. On the final time, he doesn't make any noise.

"I think you knocked him unconscious!" I call, hurrying forward to catch up with him.

"Oh, what a shame," Fred says, sounding not ashamed or guilty whatsoever.

When a passage is opened, Fred flicks his wand lazily, causing Warrington to be thrown into the passage. Fred closes the passage once more, and turns to face me.

"Better?" he asks, raising a smile crossing his face.

"You know, I was thinking of taking him to the hospital wing," I answer. "But I suppose this works, too."

"And what, do me in?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, of course not," I reply, shocked that he would ask that. "I was thinking of just telling Madam Pomfrey that he fell down some stairs."

"Yes, because someone gets knocked unconscious from falling down some stairs," Fred says sarcastically.

"Well, what if he fell while the staircases were moving?" I point out, feeling triumphant.

"I reckon that would kill you, Hazey," Fred laughs.

"It's  _possible_ for them to survive," I point out.

" _Possible,_ not likely,"

"Whatever," I mumble, looking away from him.

I hear his laughter once more, and look up at him again, a smile forming on my face. But examining his injuries more closely, the smile quickly turns into a frown.

"So, what are we going to do with you, Weasley?" I muse.

"Well, whatever it is, I hope it's not shoving me in there, too," he replies, grinning, and I let out a laugh.

"No," I agree. "Not yet, anyway. I mean your injuries. I think they're all minor, nothing big, really. But, still, what if he did something horrible to you?"

"I'm fine," Fred insists bracingly. "It's you we've got to worry about. The little git broke your nose, didn't he?"

I suddenly become aware of the pain in my nose once more. I reach up to touch it, and the contact makes a new wave of pain wash over me.

"Don't worry, I can fix it," he says matter-of-factly, and points his wand at my nose. " _Episkey_!"

My nose suddenly feels very hot, then, just as suddenly, very cold, then goes back to normal. I reach up to touch it much more, and it feels quite ordinary.

"Thank you," I breathe, grateful. "Come on, I have something that's good for minor injuries."

I take his hand, and lead him up the corridor towards Gryffindor tower, an extremely happy feeling coursing through me. Things between Fred and I are back to normal...

Though there's a slight fear in the back of my mind. It suddenly hits me very hard that if Fred wanted to use his strength against me, I wouldn't be able to stop him. I'd stand a chance with him in a duel, but in a physical fight? Not a chance. Just by looking at what he did to Warrington, I can see that.

But Fred wouldn't do that, would he? He may say stupid things that hurt me emotionally, but he wouldn't hurt me physically, would he? No... no, of course not...

"Hang on," I say, a sudden thought occurring to me, interrupting my worries, stopping dead in my tracks.

"Mhmm?" Fred says.

"The other day, you got into trouble because you were fighting with Warrington," I say slowly, desperately hoping my theory is right. "You said he was saying some rude things about your friends. Was - was the friend me?"

"You're a smart one, aren't you, Knight?" Fred grins. "Yeah, it was you. It was worth the double detention," he adds quickly, seeing my guilty expression. "I told you, nobody can say stuff like that about you." He pauses for a moment, before adding. "Not even me. So, next time I'm out of line, feel free to give me a smack."

"I think I can do that," I joke, laughing.

"Wonderful," Fred laughs, letting me drag him up to Gryffindor tower once more.


	32. Lovesick Puppy

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Lovesick Puppy**

 

The next few days are a lot better, now that Fred and I aren't fighting any more. Not only is it a relief that we're on speaking terms once more, but, now that we're no longer fighting, I get to see more of George and Lee again. Though, I'm not sure if I really like that Fred has become more protective of me. Whenever Warrington passes by, Fred immediately, as if without thinking of it, puts an arm around me, pulling me closer to him, glaring at Warrington. And whenever we're not beside each other, Fred'll simply stare him down, until Warrington is out of sight. I appreciate that Fred's looking out for me, and doesn't want me to get hurt, but I get the idea that Fred thinks I'm completely useless, and that frustrates me quite a bit.

During breakfast one snowy Saturday morning, I catch Harry staring off across the Great Hall. Following his haze, I see that he's staring at Cho Chang. A smirk crosses my face as I glance from Harry to Cho, a smirk that goes unnoticed by everyone else.

Cho's group of friends are giggling, nodding at Harry, obviously having spotted him, as well. Cho shushes them, then turns her head to look at Harry, flashing him a shy smile. Harry tries to return it, but ends up spilling pumpkin juice down his front. Cho's friends start laughing, and she tries to get them to stop, though she looks slightly amused herself.

Harry turns back around in his seat, wiping his chin and jumper with a napkin, looking embarrassed, to catch me letting out stifled laughs.

"Shut up," he says simply, making it more difficult for me to stop laughing.

"What're you two on about?" Ron asks curiously.

Deciding to save what's left of Harry's dignity, I say, "Nothing, really," and before Ron can pursue the subject any more, add, "What d'you think the assembly McGonagall's doing is about?"

"No idea," Harry replies, looking grateful for my saving him from what was bound to be an awkward conversation - at least, for Harry.

 

***

 

We're sitting in a large empty classroom, with the desks stacked against two opposite walls, and four rows of chairs on the longer opposite walls. Gryffindor girls from years four to seven are sitting on one side, boys of the same house and age opposite us. An ancient looking gramophone stands near the middle of the room. Everyone whispers curiously to each other, wondering what the assembly is about, and why we'd need a gramophone.

However, when McGonagall enters the room, followed by Filch, we fall silent immediately.

"The Yule Ball has been of the Triwizard-" McGonagall falters for a moment, looking irritably at Filch, who seems to be trying to get the gramophone to work, and not very quietly, before continuing, "-Tournament since its inception. On Christmas night we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for well-mannered frivolity. As representatives of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward - and I mean this literally, because the Yule Ball is first and foremost... a dance."

Girls all around me turn and start talking to each other excitedly, while groans emerge from the boys' side. My heart drops, and I find myself on the same side as the boys. A dance?

"Oh, Hazel, this is wonderful!" Hermione whispers excitedly. "This must be what the drsses are for!"

"Yeah," I say dully, nodding, "great."

"Silence," McGonagall says, and we fall silent immediately. "The House of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizard world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you in the course of a single evening besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."

She looks around the room sternly, but I crack a smile.

"Babbling bumbling band of baboons," I whisper to Hermione, my smile widening a bit. "Try saying that five times fast."

"Now, to dance is to let the body breathe," McGonagall continues, and shooting me a reproachful look when I try to repeat her words under my breath. I return her look with an apologetic one. "Inside every girl a secret swan slumbers, longing to burst forth and take flight."

I resist, with great difficulty to laugh at that. I'd say there's just about anything inside me but a secret swan, and even if there is, I think the last thing it wants to do is burst forth and take flight.

"Something's about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don't think it's a swan," Ron whispers, laughing, causing the boys in the vicinity to laugh along with him. Even though he whispered it, just about everyone could hear, including Eloise Midgen.

My smile vanishes almost immediately, turning into a fierce glare in Ron's direction. I already happen to know that Eloise Midgen is extremely insecure about herself, and this comment won't be helping that.

"Inside every body," McGonagall continues, looking pointedly at Ron, "is a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr. Weasley, will you join me?"

This time, I don't even try to hold back my laughter, and neither does anyone else. Ron goes to get up, suddenly looking extremely embarrassed, and Harry pushes him towards McGonagall, laughing.

When Ron draws level with McGonagall, she says, "Now, place your right hand on my waist."

"Where?" Ron asks, mortified.

"My waist," McGonagall repeats, looking at him expectantly.

Ron obeys, and Fred wolf-whistles, he, George, and Lee looking as though Christmas has just come early. Their expressions make things all the more funny. Ron looks, if possible, even more embarrassed.

McGonagall, either not noticing or not caring about Ron's embarrassment, takes his other hand with her own.

"Now, Mr. Filch..." Filch turns on the gramophone, and the music starts. She guides a rather clumsy Ron into a slow dance. "One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three..."

"He's a real Casanova, isn't he?" I say to Hermione, grinning, who just giggles and nods.

"Everybody come together," McGonagall says after a moment, and my smile fades immediately.

Just as soon as my smile disappears, just about all the girls except for me get to their feet, waiting almost eagerly for the boys to follow, but they seem to have the same desire to not join in on the dancing as I do. I sink back into my chair, wishing to simply disappear, trying to hide behind the bodies of the girls standing in front of me.

"Hazel, come on!" Hermione says, turning around to see me sinking farther into my chair.

"No, no, thank you, I'm good," I say breathlessly, not meeting her eyes. "I'd rather just sit here... and maybe sink through the floor," I add under my breath.

"Boys, on your feet!" McGonagall calls.

Neville looks like he's gathering his courage, trying to convince himself of something, before hesitantly getting to his feet. I have to admire his bravery.

"It'll be fun," she insists, but I do think she looks a little nervous herself.

 _Probably upset that McGonagall has Ron all to herself,_ I think, amusing myself once more, but still refuse to get up.

Hermione looks about ready to drag me out of my chair and to my feet, but Neville crosses the room and asks her to dance. Looking slightly flustered, she agrees, and she looks around at me for half a second, mouthing for me to get my bum out of my chair, before turning back to Neville.

Glad that nobody else will be nagging me to throw myself into a whole new world of discomfort, I settle back into my chair, until McGonagall's sharp voice sounds once more, and I hear my name.

"You too, Miss Knight, on your feet!"

Several people look around at me, some stifling laughs at my expression, and some not being so kind as to stifle their laughter, and I can feel myself blushing. Wondering if it's possible to die of embarrassment. I slowly get up from my chair, hiding behind a group of tall sixth years.

My method of hiding behind people who are taller than me soon proves to have a fatal flaw; a fatal flaw that becomes relevant as more and more boys stand up, and choose to dance with my hiding spots. Finally, I face the fact that everyone's going to have a partner except for me, and the same thing is probably going to go for the actual Yule Ball itself.

Just as I start contemplating how much Hermione would yell at me if I told her I won't be going, I notice Fred making his way towards me, and try to look amused and casual about everyone else but me dancing, rather than distressed and embarrassed.

"So, wanna dance, instead of standing around?" Fred prompts, smirking.

"All right, sure," I say, forcing a laugh, and hoping I don't look overly flustered.

My heart skips a beat when he wraps an arm around my waist, and takes my hand with his other. Looking around to see what everyone is doing, I put my free hand on his shoulder.

A whole new fear sweeps through me. I don't know how to dance. I can hardly walk on flat surfaces without tripping over my own two feet, let alone dance. I suppose I can watch what everyone else is doing, and follow along as best as I can, but how far will that get me?

"Don't worry, I'll lead," Fred mutters in my ear, apparently reading my mind. "Just try not to step on my feet, I reckon those combat boots hurt when you're only wearing trainers."

I let out a nervous laugh, though reassured that at least Fred would be leading, even if he turns out to not be a very good dancer himself.

Fred, however, is a surprisingly good dancer. He's not  _extraordinary_ , or anything, but he can at least get the basics of what McGonagall's showing us, without tripping every two seconds, like I'm doing. All in all, we'd look quite nice if I could go two seconds without tripping. Luckily, Fred keeps joking around as usual, which keeps things from getting too awkward, though, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who're dancing with Dean and Seamus, wiggle their eyebrows at me whenever I make eye contact with them, doesn't help matters.

When McGonagall finally dismisses us, Fred and I let go of each other, I say that I'll talk to him later, and I hurry off to catch up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"So, you were dancing with Fred, were you?" Hermione whispers to me, smirking.

"Yes," I reply slowly, realizing immediately where this conversation is going.

"I suppose he asked you to go to the Ball immediately."

"No, he didn't," I reply shortly, so Hermione gets the message that I'd rather not talk about it. "He was just doing me a favour, because I looked awfully stupid standing by myself while everyone else was dancing."

Hermione doesn't pursue the topic.

 

***

 

The next dew days, wherever I go, all I hear is talk about the Yule Ball. I wish everyone would shut the hell up about it, as it's something that I'd rather not talk about.

"Come on, Hazel, don't tell me you're not the least bit excited about it," Lavender Brown says, as I groan in annoyance when she and Parvati Patil bring up the Yule Ball for what must be the millionth time that week.

"Okay, I won't," I mumble.

"How can you not be excited? You get to wear pretty dresses and shoes, and do your hair really nice, and dance the night away, and-" Parvati says excitedly, and I note that that's just about everything I'd rather not do.

"Oh, goody," I interrupt sarcastically.

One day, a fifth year Hufflepuff I've never spoken to in my life does something that shocks me more than I would've thought possible. He asks me to the Ball. So caught off guard, I say no before even considering the matter. All throughout Charms that day, I have to deal with Harry and Ron's constant taunts about the boy. But I get my revenge on Harry, when a similar thing happens to him, this time with a third year Hufflepuff.

I get a few more people asking me to the Ball, which surprises me greatly. I never really thought that anybody saw me that way. I decline all of their invitations, for reasons that I don't even know, myself. Perhaps it's because I hardly know the people who're asking me. But I don't think that's it.

It hits me that I'm waiting for Fred to ask me to go with him. I'm saying no to guys who seem perfectly nice, waiting around for Fred like some lovesick puppy. Which is one of the most stupid things I can do, honestly, as I know perfectly well that Fred doesn't want to go with me, and would obviously rather go with someone much more beautiful than I am.

 

***

 

After studying antidotes with Hermione for a few hours, we finally pack up, and are about to head out, when someone calls us back.

"Her-my-own-ninny!" we turn around, to find Viktor Krum walking towards us. "Can I speak to you for a moment? Privately," he adds, with a pointed look in my direction.

Hermione and I exchange glances. I shrug, and exit the library, waiting out by the corridor, wondering what Viktor Krum could want from Hermione.

She returns a few minutes later, looking very flustered.

"What did he want?" I ask her curiously.

"He - he asked me to the Yule Ball!" Hermione says, looking as though she can't believe it.

"Really?" I say, a smile crossing my face. "Hermione, that's brilliant!"

"I really didn't think - I didn't even know he knew I existed," Hermione admits.

"That's probably why he went to the library so much," I say. "Because you go there all the time."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says, but she blushes even more at that. "Has - has anyone asked you yet?"

I was hoping she wouldn't ask me that.

"No," I reply, though that's a lie.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," a voice from behind us says, making us turn around once more. Much to my annoyance, Pansy Parkinson is standing before us, wearing a smirk on her pug-like features. "With a face like yours, I don't imagine anyone would fancy going with you."

I open my mouth to retort, but Hermione shakes her head.

"Come on, Hazel, just ignore her," she says, and when I give no sign of moving, she takes my arm and drags me away from her.

At it's late at night, once in the common room, we just head straight up to the girls' dormitories. I charge into the bathroom before Hermione can, changing into an old pair of pyjamas that used to belong to Candy, that are about two sizes too big, and brushing my teeth, before exiting the bathroom.

While Hermione's in the bathroom, I look in the mirror, studying my reflection. Is it just me, or have I gotten even uglier? Have my eye gotten duller? My nose bigger? Has my smile always been so ridiculous? I stop trying to make my smile look nice, and I don't know if my blank expression, mingled with some sadness, makes me look better or worse.

Hermione exits the bathroom, to find me still looking into the mirror, thinking.

"You're not taking what Parkinson said to heart, are you?" she asks me.

"No," I lie immediately.

"Hazel," she says, looking at me in disbelief.

"I know I shouldn't," I sigh. "But still like that sticks to you, I suppose."

"Listen, Hazel," Hermione says sternly. "You're seriously gorgeous, and for the longest time I was so jealous of you, and I still am a little bit, if I'm honest with myself-"

"Wh - what?" I splutter, shocked. Why would anyone be jealous of me?

"So, don't listen to anything she says. She's probably just jealous of you, too," Hermione concludes.

I highly doubt that, but I'm too grateful for Hermione trying to make me feel better that I don't say that.

"Thanks, Mione," I say, forcing a smile. "And you shouldn't be jealous - you're really pretty. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Hazel," Hermione says, looking unconvinced that I'm any better.

I crawl into bed, still feeling ugly as ever, and wondering is Fred would think of me as more than a friend if my smile was nicer.

 

***

 

Things are getting out of hand. Another boy had asked me to the ball, and I had said no, once again. He seemed perfectly nice, but I said no to him. Because I'm waiting for a boy who I know doesn't see me that way.

After dinner, I decide that I'm done with waiting for Fred. I'm not going to say no to every nice guy that asks me, waiting like a lovesick puppy for someone who's never going to come around.

Suddenly, on the way back to the common room, I hear the sound of people shouting all at once behind me, and I jump, letting out a scream myself. Turning on my heel, I see, Fred, George, and Lee standing right behind me, laughing at my terrified expression.

"You prats!" I exclaim, though grinning myself. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"We figured," Lee says, chuckling.

"So, Hazel," George prompts, "got a date to the Ball, yet?"

"No," I reply, almost defensively. Deciding to recover from this, I add, more jokingly. "Why, not interested, are you?"

"You wish," George laughs. "I'm going with Katie bell."

"Really?" I ask, smiling. "That's great! Katie's really cool!"

"And hot," George adds under his breath.

I roll my eyes at him, shaking my head.

"So, you waiting for anyone in particular?" Lee asks innocently.

"Oh, please don't tell me you lot still aren't on about that," I groan.

"You haven't said that you aren't," Fred laughs.

"I - I might've been," I admit, and a moment later, feel surprised that I had said that. "But now there's no point. I'll say yes to the next nice guy who asks me."

"Hey, Hazel," Fred says loudly, having abruptly stopped laughing. "Can I talk to you for a moment? In private."

"Er - all right," I reply, slightly caught off guard.

I follow him down the corridor, and turning right into a new one.

"What's up?" I ask nervously.

"Will - will you go to the Ball with me?" Fred asks, sounding casual except for that slight stutter.

"What?" I ask, unable to believe it. It's too good to be true.

"Will you go to the Ball with me?" Fred repeats, slightly louder, as though I couldn't hear. "You know, the Yule Ball."

"The Ball," I repeat. "With you?"

"Yes," Fred nods, grinning, though he looks slightly nervous now.

A small smile crosses my face, and I try very hard not to look too happy.

"Yeah," I reply, nodding. "Yeah, all right. Sounds cool."

"Cool," he says, grinning. "Great."

All I can do is nod and smile, praying that he can't hear my heart beating rapidly in my chest.

"We - we should get back to George and Lee," he finally says.

"Yeah. Yeah, all right,"

Dear God. Is that all I'm capable of saying right now?

I follow him back across the corridor, and we turn the corner to find Lee and George against the wall, jumping, and looking like two people who have been caught in the act of doing something terrible.

"You prats were listening in to our conversation, weren't you?" I ask, trying to look upset.

"Maybe," George replies, grinning apologetically.

"Gits," I say cheerfully, laughing.

Unable to believe my luck, I walk to the common room, talking and laughing, feeling in an extremely good mood, but I try desperately to not let  _that_ show on my face.


	33. Harry and Ron's Impossible Task

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Harry and Ron's Impossible Task**

 

During the last week of term, rumours about the Yule Ball spread like wildfire across the castle, but I don't believe half of them. For example, I don't believe that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. However, it does seem to be fact that he had booked the Weird Sisters.

At first, I didn't see the significance of this, until an extremely excited Ginny explained to me that the Weird Sisters are a very popular wizard band, that happens to be comprised of not girls, but boys. Really misleading name, don't you think? Upset and rather annoyed by my lack of excitement by this news, Ginny keeps talking to me and showing me their songs to the point where I'm nearly as excited as she is.

Some teachers, like Professor Flitwick, have given up on trying to teach their students anything, as their minds are so clearly elsewhere; he allows us to play games during his lesson on Wednesday, and spends most of it talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm Harry had used during the task. Other teachers aren't so generous, however.

It's virtually impossible to stop Professor Binns, for example, from ploughing on through his notes on Goblin Rebellions. Since Binns hadn't let his own death get in the way of his teaching, I suppose something as small as Christmas and a ball won't stop him, either. Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody keeps up working until the last second of their lessons, as well, something I'd expected of them, and Snape, of course, would no sooner let us play games than adopt me. Staring nastily at us all, he informs us that he's going to be testing us on our poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

"Evil, he is," Ron says bitterly that night in the common room. "Springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of studying."

"Mmm... you're not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?" Hermione says, and I look up at Ron, who's building a card castle out of Exploding Snap pack, glad to be looking at something other than my Potions notes.

"It's Christmas, Hermione," Harry says lazily, who's reading through Flying with the Cannons, but Hermione just looks severely at him too.

"I'd have thought you'd be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to learn your antidotes!"

"Like what?" Harry asks.

"That egg!" she hisses.

"Come on, Hermione, I've got 'til February the twenty-fourth," Harry insists.

"But it might take you weeks to work it out!" Hermione argues. "You're going to look like a real idiot if everyone knows what the task is and you don't!"

"Leave him alone, Hermione, he's earned himself a bit of a break," Ron cuts in, placing his last two cards on the castle' the whole lot explodes, singeing his eyebrows.

"Nice look, Ron, that'll go good with your dress robes, that will," George's voice says.

Him and Fred sit down at our table, as Ron feels how much damage has been done.

"Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?" George asks.

"No, he's off delivering a letter," Ron replies. "Why?"

"Because George wants to invite him to the Ball," Fred replies sarcastically.

"Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat," George adds.

"Who d'you two keep writing to, eh?" Ron asks.

"Nose out, Ron, or I'll burn that for you too," Fred says, waving his wand threateningly. "So... you lot got dates for the Ball, yet?"

I suddenly feel slightly uncomfortable. I don't really want Fred to bring up that we're going together in front of Harry and Ron, though, I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because they'll take the mickey out of me. For whatever reason, the only people I've told are Hermione and Ginny.

"Nope," Ron replies.

"Well, you better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones'll be gone," Fred informs him, and I roll my eyes at that comment. "Who're you going with, then?" Ron asks, slightly annoyed, and I fidget uncomfortably for a moment.

"Hazel," Fred answers promptly, without a trace of embarrassment. How does he manage to do that?

Both Harry and Ron look at me, surprise, before Ron looks back at Fred.

"So, you've asked her?" Ron says, taken aback.

"Obviously he has," I cut in dryly, trying not to act too awkward or embarrassed. "I don't think he would be saying he's going with me right in front of me, if he hadn't asked."

"There you go," Fred says, grinning.

He gets to his feet, yawning, before saying, "Come on, George, we'd better use a school owl, then..."

They leave, and Ron turns back to look at me.

"You didn't tell me you were going with him to the Ball," he says, almost accusingly, to me.

"It didn't come up," I retort easily.

"Yes, it has! It's all everyone's been talking about for ages," Ron argues, which is true; Parvati had asked him who I was going with, but I'd refused to tell her, not wanting to have to endure hers and Lavender's comments on the subject.

" _You_ didn't ask me," I insist. "Besides, Ronald, I hardly think I have to tell you every detail of my life, nor do I think it would be pleasant of me to go around announcing to anyone who would listen that I'm going to the Yule Ball with Fred Weasley."

Ron just shakes his head at me, before looking at Harry.

"He's got a point, though, you know. We should get a move on, ask someone. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls."

Hermione lets out a sputter of indignation, and my jaw drops a little. Not even Ron could be so shallow and tactless, right?

"A pair of... what, excuse me?"

He shrugs. "Well - you know, I'd rather go alone than with - with Eloise Midgen, say."

"Her acne's loads better lately - and she's really nice!" I say, almost defiantly, as though it's me he's insulting.

"Her nose is off-centre."

"Oh, I see," Hermione says, bristling. "So, basically, you'll take the best looking girl that'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"

"Er - yeah, that sounds about right," Ron says, nodding.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione snaps, and sweeps off without a word.

"Nicely done, you prat," I snarl at Ron, before packing up my stuff and following Hermione, preparing reassurances that Ron doesn't mean it, and that sometimes he's just a git, because Ron's just stupid like that.

 

***

 

"Why do they have to travel in packs?" Harry asks in frustration, on Friday during break, as he, Ron, and I walk across the courtyard, "And how are you supposed to get one of them on their own to ask them?"

I start giggling uncontrollably at that, unable to help myself. When Harry shoots me a half exasperated, half helpless look, I manage to calm myself down.

"You do know that we're girls, not lions, right?" I ask him, grinning.

"I don't really see the difference," Harry admits, and I let out another laugh.

"Blimey, Harry, you've fought dragons. If you can't get a date, who can?" Ron says.

"Yeah, well, I think I'd rather have another go with the dragon right about now," Harry shrugs.

"Harry - we've just got to grit our teeth and do it," Ron insists, in a tone that suggests that they're about to invade an impregnable fortress. "When we get back to the common room tonight, we'll both have partners - agreed?"

"Er... okay,"

_This should be good._

The rest of the day passes by well enough, especially since I think I did fairly good on the Potions test. Hermione and I walk out of the dungeon, Hermione talking quickly and worriedly, just as she always does after tests and exams.

"Hermione, you did fine," I interrupt, slightly frustrated. "Just as always."

"Oh, but I think I messed the last bit up-"

"You'll see," I insist, "when you get full marks for the millionth time in a row."

Hermione doesn't say anything else, but she still looks worried. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It wouldn't be so annoying if she wasn't top of our year.

Dinner is a cheerful event, since everyone's glad that term is over, and there's also much talk of the Yule Ball - as there has been for the past month.

"Can't anyone in this school go two seconds without bringing up the bloody Yule Ball?" I snap, rolling my eyes at a giggling Lavender Brown.

"Apparently not," Hermione agrees. "I admit, it's getting annoying, it's not as fun to talk about if the subject never changes."

"About time you thought so," I say, but not unkindly.

"But I'm sure you've very excited now that you're going with a certain Weasley," Hermione teases.

"And I'm sure you're even more excited now that you're going with a certain professional Quidditch player," I retort, grinning, but quietly, since Hermione doesn't want anyone knowing who she's going with.

Hermione laughs, though a very faint blush appears on her cheeks.

"You know, I never told you, but - Neville asked me," she says quietly.

"What?" I say, unable to believe it.

"He asked me to the Ball," she elaborates, now looking quite embarrassed.

"Really? When?" I ask, surprised.

"Just today, before breakfast. And, you know, I already said yes to Viktor, so I had to tell him no, and I feel really bad, because he seemed upset and-"

"Hermione, it's not your fault you had a date," I say, smiling reassuringly. "I'm sure Neville's all right. He'll have found someone, he's really sweet."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Hermione agrees. "I just feel really bad."

"Well, don't," I advise.

"Brilliant advice, Hazel," Hermione says sarcastically. "Really, where do you get this stuff?"

Laughing, I say, "It just comes naturally, I suppose."

The rest of dinner is a breeze of talking and laughing. After dinner, we head back to the common room, wondering where Harry and Ron are. The answer becomes apparent when we enter the common room. Ron is sitting on one of the armchairs by the fire, laughing about something, Harry and Ginny around him. Harry starts laughing, too, and Ginny looks annoyed.

"Wonder what that's about," I mumble to Hermione, as we walk over towards them.

"Why weren't you at dinner?" Hermione asks.

"Because - oh, shut up laughing, you two - because they've both just been turned down by the girls they asked to the Ball!" Ginny snaps.

That shuts Harry and Ron right up.

"Thanks a bunch, Ginny," Ron says sourly.

"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" Hermione says loftily.

"I suppose Eloise Midgen is starting to look quite pretty now, isn't she?" I add coldly. "Well, I'm sure you'll find  _someone_ who'll have you."

But Ron is staring at Hermione as though seeing her in a whole new light.

"Hermione, Neville's right - you're a girl..."

He can't be serious.

"Oh, well spotted," Hermione says waspishly.

"Well - you can come with one of us!"

And by one of us, I'm betting he means him.

"No, I can't," Hermione snaps.

"Oh, come on," Ron says impatiently, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has..."

... _and Hermione's nose isn't off-centre and everything!_ I add bitterly to myself.

"I can't come with you," Hermione insists, now blushing, "because I'm already going with someone."

"No, you're not!" Ron says. "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

I wince, as though Ron had just slapped me. This really isn't going to end well...

"Oh, did I?" Hermione says, and her eyes flash dangerously. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!"

Ron stares at her. Then he grins again. I hope desperately that this time he'll say the right thing.

"Okay, okay, we know you're girl," he says. "That do? Will you come now?"

"I've already told you," Hermione says, very angrily. "I'm going with someone else!"

And she storms off towards the girls' dormitories again.

"She's lying," Ron says flatly, watching her go.

"She's not," Ginny says quietly.

"Who is it, then?" Ron says sharply.

"I'm not telling you, it's her business," she says.

"Right," Ron says, looking extremely put out, "this is getting stupid, Ginny, you go with Harry, and I'll just-"

"I can't," Ginny says, and she goes scarlet too. "I'm going with - with Neville."

I look around at her surprise.

"He asked me when Hermione said no, and I thought... well... I'm not going to be able to go otherwise, I'm not in fourth year," she looks extremely miserable. "I think I'll go and have dinner."

"Yeah, I'll go, too," I say, though I just ate; I think Hermione needs to be left alone for a moment, and I'm too annoyed with Ron to be in his presence, at the moment.

 

***

 

Christmas dawns bright and cold, and I wake before anyone else in the dormitory. This doesn't surprise me; Christmas is my favourite holiday, so I'm usually up and energetic even if it's early in the morning, which usually isn't like me.

Grinning, I jump to my feet, shouting, "HAPPY CHRISTMAS!"

"Ugh, Hazel, keep it down!" Lavender groans from behind the curtains of her four-poster.

"But it's Christmas!" I insist, mocking her tone. "C'mon, you lot, presents!"

"The presents can wait!" Parvati declares, from behind the curtains of her own four-poster.

There's the sound of the of the curtains being pushed back, and I turn to see Hermione getting out of bed. Clearly, she sees that there's no winning against me during Christmas. I grin at her, walking over to hug her.

"Happy Christmas, 'Mione," I say, pulling away.

"Happy Christmas," she returns, smiling. "But next time, a more quiet awakening would be more appreciated."

"Thank you, Hermione!" Lavender's voice calls gratefully, from behind me, and I giggle.

"Anyway," I say, and walk over to my trunk, and take out a clumsily wrapped box, with a nice little bow, before walking back to Hermione. "Here you go, Hermione."

Hermione unwraps it carefully, opens the box, and gasps.

"Hazel - oh, you shouldn't have, these are so expensive!"

It's a pair of light blue high-heeled shoes that go extremely well with Hermione's dress. Hermione and I were looking for shoes to wear, and Hermione had fallen in love with the pair, but couldn't afford them. She tried to look for something she liked just as much, but couldn't find anything. Eventually, she'd given up, sending her mother an owl, and asking for a nice pair that she had - but it was obvious Hermione didn't like them nearly as much.

"It was nothing," I say casually, shrugging, but grinning at Hermione's delighted expression.

"Oh, thank you so much!" she says, flinging her arms around my neck, and hugging me tightly. When she pulls away, she takes a more neatly wrapped box than mine from her own trunk, and hands it to me.

I open the box, and a smile spreads slowly across my face. It's a beautiful, simple blue bracelet, that I'm thinking would go extremely well with my dress.

"It's gorgeous, Hermione, thank you!" I say earnestly.

The rest of the day passes pretty quickly, since at five o'clock - filled with exchanged glances with Fred that change from awkward, to actually somewhat flirty, to regular glances - Hermione whisks me away from an intense snowball fight with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George, insisting that we must get ready for the Ball.

"What, you need three hours?" Ron asks incredulously, and I find myself agreeing with him; it couldn't possibly take more than an hour, could it?

Look back round, I see Ron getting hit in the head with a snowball, thrown by George, while he had been distracted. I giggle at that.

"Who're you going with?" he calls after Hermione, but she just waves at them, and we disappear up the stone steps to the castle.

"Why  _do_ we need three hours?" I ask Hermione. "All we need to do is take a shower, put on a dress and some shoes, and do whatever to our hair."

"Easier said than done," Hermione shrugs.

And her words prove to be true; by the time that we've taken our showers, fixed each others' hair, put on our dresses, shows, and whatever other accessory, it's seven thirty-five. Funny how quickly time flies...

"Hazel, you look beautiful!" Hermione gushes, and I smile, feeling quite pretty myself.

"Thanks, Hermione. And you look gorgeous. Viktor's not going to be able to take his eyes off you," I tease, winking, and Hermione laughs a little, blushing.

I mean the compliment, though. Her long, floaty periwinkle blue dress suits her wonderfully, the shows going just as well as we had though. Her hair is done up in an elaborate knot - which had taken me a long time to perfect, full of cursing from frustration, and a hell of a lot of Sleekeazy Hair Potion, might I add - and there's just a different grace about her. The way she carries herself is different - but that might be the absence of the load of books slung over her back.

"I should go to Viktor," Hermione says, after a moment, looking very nervous.

"All right," I nod. "See you later. And don't be nervous, all right? Viktor'll love you."

"Thanks," Hermione says appreciatively, hugging me quickly. "Are you coming down, too?"

"No," I shake my head, after a slight pause. "I think I'll stay here... you know, gather my courage."

"You'll do fine," Hermione says, sounding a little amused. "But I'll see you later."

"Bye," I smile at her, waving, and she walks out, closing the door behind her.

The room becomes extremely silence and still. I'm all alone now; Parvati and Lavender had both left ages ago. I don't know if I like the solitude any better. Sighing, I look into the mirror, taking in my appearance once more.

My hair is done in a nice, soft set of curls, cascading down my back, part of the top of it drawn back and tied together in a messy not, loose strands of it falling out. Loose strands of hair fall on either side of my face. My dress fits me quite nicely, falling just past my knees, and the bracelet looks fantastic with it. My shoes, white simple flats - Hermione had suggested I wear heels, but that idea proved to be ridiculous after I tripped while wearing every pair I put on - are, much to my delight, actually quite comfortable to wear, along with looking nice.

Why am I so nervous? I look fine - beautiful, even. There's no reason for me to feel butterflies - and some big, monstrous butterflies, at that - are fluttering around in my stomach. And let's not forget, it's  _Fred_ who asked  _me_. It's not like  _I_ asked  _him_ , or anything. Then again, it might be because he asked someone else and they turned him down for whatever reason, but I don't think it's best to think like that. Either way, he asked me, meaning that he wanted to go with me. He knew exactly what he was getting into, and if I actually look terrible, then whatever. I'll just try to have a good time.

Why did he ask me, though? Am I a last resort for him? I hope not - if I am, then I don't want to go with him. But I'll think more positively, and maybe he does want to go with me. Why, though? Does he want to go with me just as friends, or as something more? He never really said what he meant by it - and I bloody wish he did.

I shake my head, trying to brush off my confused thoughts. A couple strands of hair fall over my face, and I brush them aside impatiently, peering at my reflection once more. Now's not the time to be over-thinking things.

I glance over at the clock; seven forty-three. Now's  _definitely_ not the time to be over-thinking things. I'm going to go out and have a good time with Fred, and, then, after that - well, we'll see from there, I suppose.

With this conclusion in mind, I walk quite confidently across the dormitory, more excited for tonight than I was any time before.


	34. The Yule Ball

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Thirty-Four: The Yule Ball**

 

I stay right in front of the door when I enter the common room, looking around the room nervously, searching for Fred. Moments before, I'd felt more beautiful than I had in a long time. But now, I feel more self-conscious than ever. What am I doing, wearing a fancy dress and fixing up my hair and putting on make-up? And what in the world was I thinking, agreeing to go with Fred? And what was he thinking, asking me, of all people, to go with him? I feel like everyone in the common room is staring at me, judging me, wondering why I even bothered.

Despite my extreme nervousness, and sudden queasiness, I have to admire everyone's appearances. The common room looks much bright with all the different coloured dress robes and dresses, instead of just the usual black robes.

Finally, I find Fred, chatting leisurely with George and Katie. My heart skips a beat when I catch sight of Fred. He looks  _wonderful_ ; his dress robes of navy blue look really good on him, his usually messy, ginger hair gives off the impression that Fred tried to make it look neat, but then changed his mind and messed it up again. His smile is casual, laughing and talking as if he went to balls with one of his best friends as his date on a daily basis. I feel a surge of anger and jealousy at how casual he is. How is that I'm about to throw up I'm so nervous, but he's acting like this is no big deal?

Fred finally sees me, and turns around. When he catches my eye, my stomach does flip flops, feeling more insecure about my appearance than ever. However, I manage to put on a nervous smile, which he reciprocates, something different in his before casual expression. As I walk, I gather my courage, resisting the urge to turn around and rub back to the girls' dormitories, where I can change into comfortable clothes, curl up into a ball in my bed, and have to never come out and be reminded of tonight. I continue to head over to them, the walk seeming to take ages as I feel Fred's gaze burn into me, taking in my appearance.

When I bump into a table, I silently pray to just sink into the floor and disappear. I hear laughing from people in the vicinity, and looking up towards the group I'm pursuing, see George and Katie laughing, as well. Fred, much to my surprise, however, isn't laughing, though a faint smile has crossed his face. Curiosity rushes through me; Fred always laughs at me when I fall, bump into something, or display other clumsy actions - and that happens a lot. Why isn't he laughing now?

Finally, I reach Fred, George, and Katie.

"Hello, you lot," I say, smiling.

"Hi," George and Katie greet.

"Hazel, you look gorgeous!" Katie gushes.

"Thank you! So do you, Katie!" I return, and I mean it.

Her dress is floor length, and scarlet. Just below the diaphragm, there's a red belt-type thing, before the dress continues down to the floor. It shows a bit of cleavage, but not too much. Her hair is done in soft waves, flowing down her back. Her make-up is light, like mine is, but it works on her. She doesn't need to put on much.

"Thanks," she smiles.

"You do look nice, I  _suppose_ ," George comments teasingly. "Too bad that dress couldn't have given you more grace."

"At least  _I_ clean up nice, Weasley," I retort, grinning.

"Shut up, you know I look gorgeous," George says, posing ridiculously.

"You're a real charmer, aren't you?" I laugh. "You're a lucky one, Katie."

"Yeah, I suppose I am," Katie agrees, laughing.

Suddenly, it hits me very hard that Fred hasn't spoken ever since he saw me. Feeling guilty that I was talking to George and Katie as oppose to Fred, my actual date, I turn to him, who doesn't seem to mind. He just continues to stare at me, apparently at a loss for words, something that surprises me greatly. I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day where Fred Weasley is actually  _speechless_.

"Fred?" I ask tentatively, smiling shyly, feeling insecure at his seemingly never-ending gaze; is there something wrong with me? Do I really look that bad?

"You look," he finally manages to choke out, "wow. And your hair and dress are so - wow. You just - wow."

I feel the heat tingling in my cheeks at his comment. I try to ignore George and Katie, who are pretending to gag and cooing at us, though I can feel my blush deepening at their actions. I manage to let out a laugh, though.

"Thanks, Fred, you look pretty 'wow' yourself," I reply grinning.

Fred laughs, suddenly looking rather embarrassed, but still managing his usual grin.

"Shall we do down, then?" George proposes, as a fair few people scramble out of the portrait hole.

We all murmur our assent. Fred, seeming to have regain his ability to form proper sentences and act his usual self, holds his arm up for me to take. Laughing at his mock-pompous manner, I link arms with him, and we make our way through the common room, and George pushes the portrait hole open. We scramble through, and once out in the hall, I straighten my dress out absently.

As we walk down the corridor, I see Fred murmuring something to George, a slight frown on his face. I can see his lips moving, but I can't read what he's saying. At Fred's words, a slight frown crosses George's before a perfectly cheerful expression. I watch the scene, confusion welling up inside me.

"Sorry, mate," I can barely catch George saying.

This makes my feeling of curiosity increase. What is it that Fred's so upset about? They were getting along perfectly find just a moment ago. George catches me looking at him, and trying to pass it off like I'd only been watching for a second, I give him a quick smile, before facing forward once more. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see George continuing to watch me suspiciously for a moment, before turning back to his twin. I strain my ears to hear what they're saying, determinedly facing forward and not turning to them, but I can't hear what's being said.

Next thing I know, Fred's back at my side, grinning as we link arms once more.

"What was that all about?" I blurt out, before I can stop myself.

Fred frowns at me, obviously upset that I had been eavesdropping - or  _trying_ to eavesdrop, at least. _  
_

"Nothing you need to worry about, love," Fred replies.

I want to continue to ask about the subject, but I decide it's better not to.

"So," Fred prompts, clearly wanting to change the subject, "how bad of a dance do you reckon you'll be this time?"

"Better than you," I retort, laughing.

"Oh, please, I'm an amazing dancer," Fred says in mock-arrogance.

"Whatever gets you through the day, Weasley," I say, grinning.

"You'll see," he says, a grin crossing his face.

As we reach the marble staircase, I suddenly become very nervous all over again. It'd been horrifying facing the Gryffindors with my appearance, it'd be damn near torturous to have to face the rest of the school - or, at least, a lot of the rest of the school. Fred seems o notice my nervousness.

"Don't worry, babe, you look gorgeous," he says, leaning down to whisper in my ear, his hot breath tickling my skin, causing tingles to go down my spine.

I can feel a small blush creeping up on my cheeks, but give Fred a shy smile as we start walking down the steps. I don't look around the Entrance Hall, in fear of catching someone's eye. Instead, I keep my eyes firmly planted on the steps below my feet.

"Dunno why you're being shy," I can hear Fred grumbling under his breath. "Most gorgeous girl here."

My blush, which had been fading before, now rapidly returns, deeper than before. I want to say thank you, or that I think he looks amazing, too, but I get the distinct feeling he didn't mean for me to hear that, so I keep my mouth shut, smiling like an idiot at his comment, all the same.

"What?" he asks me, as we reach the bottom of the steps, looking sort of nervous. "What're you smiling about?"

"Just remembering a funny story," I invent, shrugging casually.

"What story?" he asks me.

"Er," I hesitate, my heart sinking. I was afraid he'd ask that. "The time that we turned Malfoy's hair green."

Fred lets out a laugh, the slight nervousness disappearing. "Yeah, that was pretty funny."

It takes everything I have not to sigh in relief; he bought it.

I look around the Entrance Hall, looking around for a familiar face. I'm vaguely aware of people looking at me, but try my best to ignore it. I find Harry and Ron along with Padma and Parvati, and a grin crosses my face. They catch my eye, and smile back. Next are a group of Slytherins, coming up from the dungeons.

Malfoy's leading the group, wearing dress robes of black velvet, with a high collar that, in my opinion, makes him look quite like a vicar. Pansy Parkinson, wearing a frilly pink dress that doesn't leave much to the imagination from the waist up, is clutching onto Malfoy's arm very tightly. Crabbe and Goyle are both wearing green dress robes, making them look much like moss-coloured boulders. I note, much to my amusement, that neither of them had managed to find partners.

"Look," I whisper to Fred. "Crabbe and Goyle haven't got dates."

"Really?" Fred says sarcastically. "I'm shocked; who wouldn't want to go with those two strapping young lads?"

"Well, at least they'll always have each other," I point out, laughing.

Fred laughs at that. "You know, I did always think they had something going on."

"So did I, actually," I say, my laughter increasing.

The Durmstrang party walk through the doors, Krum in the front of the party along with Hermione. A grin crosses my face. She looks beautiful, and she seems to be enjoying herself. She catches my eye, and waves at me, smiling.

"Hi, Hazel!" she says, as she passes.

"Hey!" I say, waving back to her.

"Who was that?" Fred asks, a slight frown on his face.

I look around to stare at him, shocked. I mean, I know Hermione looks different I know that she doesn't really put on make-up, and out on fancy clothes, but there's no way she looks different to the point where she's unrecognisable.

"Couldn't - couldn't you yell?" I ask, frowning.

"No," Fred answers honestly. "Should I be able to?"

"Well, considering that you've known her for four years, and she's stayed at your house over the summer and all, I reckon you should know," I mumble, but Fred catches every word.

"What d'you mean?" Fred asks slowly.

"For God's sake, it's Hermione!" I shout in a whisper, exasperated.

"That was Hermione?" Fred asks in disbelief, and when I nod exasperatedly, he lets out a long, low whistle.

Frowning, and my emotions changing from happy to upset rapidly, I slap his arm, before crossing my own, glaring at him.

"Oh, come on, you  _know_ that's not what I meant!" Fred says, frowning.

"Well, what  _did_ you mean, then?" I ask him testily.

"Just that - oh, come on - she just  _looks_ different," he protests. "Come on, you  _know_ she looks different!"

"Oh, come on, you two, don't you start  _now_ ," George cuts in, when I open my mouth to speak.

I glare at Fred for a moment, before looking away from him. Fantastic.

"Why don't we go inside the Great Hall?" Katie suggests quickly, clearly wanting to clear the tension.

"All right," George says, and we all head for the Great Hall.

Fred, however pulls me back, a determined look on his face. He steps very closely to me, so that my breath hitches in my throat, and my eyes widen.

"Listen, Hazel, c'mon, you know I didn't mean it like that," he says, tipping his head down slightly so that our foreheads are touching.

His hands find my waist, and I bite my lip nervously, forgetting very quickly that there're loads of people around.

"Look, I'm really glad you're going with me," Fred continues, and my heart leaps at that. "And I don't want something this stupid to ruin tonight. Please, just forget about it, all right?"

I nod feverishly, swallowing a little. "Yeah - yeah, you're right. This is stupid. Let's - let's just go and have a good time."

A grin crosses Fred's face. His smile made him look so handsome... "Now you're talking!"

He pulls away from me, takes my hand, and nearly drags me into the Great Hall. I giggle at that, running to draw level with him. He stops short when we enter the Great Hall, and I look around in awe.

The walls have been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables have disappeared, and, instead, there are hundreds of lantern-lit tables, each seating around a dozen people. I doubt that even Fleur Delacour, who seems to think Hogwarts is nothing special, can see anything bad in these decorations.

Fred and I catch up with George and Katie, and we sit at a nearby table. Once everyone is all settled, the champions enter the Hall, greeted by applause. I note Parvati enjoying every moment of being Harry's date, and steering him so forcefully that it reminds me a bit of a show dog being put through its paces.

"Harry's having fun," I comment in an undertone to Fred, causing him to grin.

At the top table are Dumbledore, Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, Madame Maxime, and, to my surprise, Percy Weasley.

"Fred, George, look, it's Percy," I say, jerking my head in his direction slightly.

"Great," George says, not sounding very delighted at all.

"He's your brother," I say reproachfully.

"And a git at that," Fred adds matter-of-factly, making me grin, in spite of myself.

After all the food had been consumed - it's an odd system, but very efficient; you simply say what you want into your plate, and it appears. I had glanced over at Hermione at the discovery, as this surely meant more work for the house-elves, but she seemed to have anything but house-elves on her mind, being too engrossed with Krum - the Weird Sisters troop up onto the stage to wild applause; they're all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that have been artfully ripped and torn. They pick up their instruments, and the lanterns on all the tables go out, and the champions start standing up - I notice Harry tripping over his dress robes.

The Weird Sisters start playing a slow, mournful tune, and everyone watched the champions dancing to the song, Hermione and Krum talking in whispers. After a while, more people start joining them, including Dumbledore, who's dancing with Madame Maxime.

"So, wanna dance, instead of just sitting around?" Fred suggests, just like he did when McGonagall was having us practice our dancing.

"Yeah, all right," I nod, grinning.

He stands up before me, and does a dramatic bow, offering his hand. I let out a laugh and take it, and allow him to guide me over to the dance floor. I don't trip as much as I did last time, which is a relief. Though, I find it increasingly more difficult to look into Fred's eyes, something he's quick to notice.

"Come on, it won't kill you," he says in a low voice, grinning.

"Hey, I don't know that. It's like Moody says - constant vigilance," I whisper back to him, a smile crossing my face as my eyes wander up to his handsome face, and Fred chuckles a little.

Once the song ends, a much faster one starts to play, and Fred instantly changes his dancing from a slow swaying, to fast enthusiastic dancing, to which I attempt to keep up with rather clumsily, laughing all the while.

"You're a lot better when you're not dancing like a maniac, you know," I tell him, as he twirls me around, before pulling me closer to him once more.

"Wish I could say that you were good at either," Fred retorts, laughing, causing me to grin.

"You're a prat!" I tell him.

"And you love it!"

"You wish," I laugh.

"You wish I wish."

Why was I so nervous before? This is easy; not much different than our normal conversations. The only difference is that we're dancing like idiots. The songs change, but neither of us have any intentions to stop dancing, even though my feet are starting to hurt a little, and I'm a bit out of breath.

"You know, you didn't seem very excited when McGonagall first told us about the Yule Ball," Fred remarks.

"Well spotted, Weasley."

"But you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit," he continues.

"Again, well spotted," I repeat, a bit of a smirk on my face now.

"I suppose I just have that affect on people," he says in mock-arrogance.

"Well, you got two out of three right," I tease.

"Hey!" Fred says, and I let out a laugh.

"No, it isn't!" I can hear Ron's voice say when another song starts up. "It's about winning!"

I look around, the smile fading from my face when I see the situation. Hermione and Ron seem to be in a very heated argument, Harry trying to stop it, but with no success. Hermione gets to her feet, and storms away.

"Trouble in romance land," I comment, nodding over to a table where now only Harry and Ron are sitting.

"What happened to their dates?" Fred asks, sounding a bit amused.

"No idea," I shrug.

"I mean, I knew Ron was a hopeless case when it came to girls," he continues, "but Harry? I mean, he's a bit awkward, but..."

I laugh, feeling rather bad for doing so. I kind of want to see what happened, try to make things up, but I'm here on a date with Fred; I can't go running off.

"If you want to deal with the happy couple, then that's fine," Fred says, apparently reading my mind.

"How did you know?" I ask, shocked.

"I know you," he replies simply, shrugging. "Besides, George and I need to talk to Ludo Bagman, so now would be a good time-"

"Really?" I interrupt, curious. "Why?"

"Just to talk about Weasley Wizard's Wheezes," he replies idly. "Nothing big. I'll be back in a moment, all right?"

"Okay," I say, smiling, and trying to shake off my curiosity.

Then Fred does something that shocks me completely; he leans down and kisses my cheek, before going off to find George. It's not like he hasn't done it before, but then it was an act, trying to get people to think that we're a couple. But he did that one out of free will; because he actually  _wanted_ to. I could stand here for ages, trying to be able to think straight, but I probably look stupid standing by myself, so I go off to find Harry and Ron, my heart still pounding wildly in my chest.

I take the seat that Hermione had been sitting in moments before, "So, what's up?"

"Nothing," Ron replies moodily.

"Didn't look like nothing,"

"What does she think she's doing, going with Krum?" Ron bursts out angrily, after a heavy silence. "Messing around with the enemy like that!"

"The  _enemy_?" I scoff, raising an eyebrow. "Who was it wanting his bloody autograph? Who was the one who nearly peed themselves when they saw him?"

"He's using her," he insists. "She's going to get herself hurt, and I'll have a big 'I told you so' for her when she does."

"Or  _maybe_ ," I say, "you're just jealous."

"Jealous?" he scoffs. "I'm not  _bloody jealous_!"

"Right, which is why you haven't danced with your date once?" I retort.

"Didn't want to dance," Ron mumbles after a moment.

"Where are your dates, anyway?" I ask, after giving Ron a furious glare.

"Went off with some Durmstrang blokes," Harry shrugs, watching Cedric and Cho dancing resentfully.

I look from him to Ron, who's glaring at Krum, and back. I repeat this action several times, before I shake my head at the pair of them.

"Jealous prats. Both of you."

"I'm not jealous!" Ron hisses. "It's not my fault she has bad taste in guys!"

I look at him in disbelief, and this time, I almost laugh. He really is so clueless.

"You really have no idea," I say, trying to stifle my laughter.

"Wha-?" he begins.

"Forget it," I cut him off. "Listen, are you two going to dance at all?"

"No point, is there?" Ron says. "Our dates have gone off with Durmstrang blokes, haven't they?"

"Besides, I danced once," Harry adds, and it's clear he doesn't have intention to dance again.

"Well, your dates wouldn't have left if you hadn't completely ignored them," I point out, rather coldly. They just shrug. "You guys are gits. And jealous ones at that."

"I'm not jealous," Ron snaps.

"I beg to differ," I sing, now quite enjoying myself.

"There is no way that I'm jealous of some slimy little-"

But at that moment, Fred reappears out of nowhere, his usual grin on his face, and he promptly takes my hand and drags me away.

"Listen, just try to have fun, won't you?" I call after them, turning my head in their direction, before turning back to Fred and allowing myself to be whisked away.

"So, what happened in romance land?" Fred asks, promptly starting to dance again.

I shrug. "Ron's just being a jealous prat."

"And their dates?"

"They went off with a couple of Durmstrang blokes," I reply.

"Durmstrang certainly seems to get around," Fred notes, and I laugh loudly.

The dancing goes on for what feels like seconds, so that I'm shocked when I find my feet starting to grow tired from all the dancing. I'd like to take a break from it all, but I also find that I don't really want to tell Fred that. It doesn't matter, however, for, after one of the faster songs, Fred suggests we go for a walk. Whether it's because he senses that I'd like to take a break, or because he'd like to take one himself, I don't know. All the same, I nod my head in reply, take his hand, and we make our way out of the crowded Great Hall.

The sound of music and the voices of laughing people grows quieter the farther away from it we walk, until eventually we can't hear anything but the sound of our own voices talking quietly to each other. Which is perfectly all right with me. We're holding hands, and, much to my relief and contrary to my worries, my hands aren't all sweaty.

We're not the only people away from the Great Hall. Snape is striding through the halls, something that doesn't surprise me; he doesn't seem like the type to be seen at balls. There are also several students, hiding in concealed parts with their dates, snogging. I think two people were having sex in one of the broom cupboards. I'm not really sure, though. Snape isn't very pleased with the students away from the Great Hall, taking House points away or giving detentions. Fred and I have managed to avoid him, but when we hear his swift footsteps coming our way, we suddenly freeze in our spots. Fred stopping mid-sentence.

Doing some quick thinking, I tighten my grip on Fred's hand, as though to make sure he won't let go, and drag him into a broom cupboard, closing the door quickly and quietly behind us. Immediately, and rather reluctantly, I let go of Fred's and, and press my ear to the door, putting my hands on either side to steady myself. I can hear Snape's footsteps sounding right outside the door for a moment, and my heart speeds up, but just as soon, the footsteps move away, growing more and more faint until I can't hear them all.

Carefully, I open the door widely enough to poke my head through the crack, and look in both directions, checking to see if Snape's still around. To my relief, he isn't. I quickly pull my head back through into the cupboard along with the rest of my body, closing the door carefully behind me.

"It's all right, he's-" I begin, turning around, but abruptly stop talking when I realize how close Fred and I really are.

Whether he's this close to me on purpose, I can't really tell, since the cupboard really is quite small. My breath hitches in my throat, staring up at Fred, who's staring at me with a slightly furrowed brow. Instinctively, I take a step back until my back is against the door, but Fred follows me so that we're just as we were before. Probably even closer.

I wish I could say or do something other than just stand there and look at him, but I'm quite speechless, and the only thing I can do is run away, and the larger part of me thinks that's a very bad idea, so I stay rooted to the spot.

Finally, it's Fred who does something, after what seems like a million years of just looking at each other; one hand wraps around my waist, his thumb rubbing circles on my lower back, while the other hand moves up to touch my cheek. All the while, I wonder if Fred could hear my heart hammering wildly in my chest. I'm so nervous that for one wild, ridiculous moment, I think that he can read my mind and is thinking about how stupid I'm being - and then I remember that nobody can read minds.

His face becomes increasingly closer to mine, and I suddenly become unable to think straight. As his face comes even closer, I think that I could probably count every freckle in his face... and it registers in my mind what he's about to do, and my mind starts thinking millions of thoughts at once, my heart rate even more rapid than before.

I'm going to kiss him. Fred's going to kiss me. This wasn't really what I was expecting. I was expecting a night of dancing and talking, and then Fred acting like nothing had happened the next day. I'd imagined horrible scenarios that ended with our friendship being ruined, whether it's because he found out that I fancy him, or just for some other reason. I was no expecting to be in a small broom cupboard with him, snogging him.

How do you kiss someone, anyway? What are you supposed to do with your tongue - I mean, I know you're not supposed to do that in your first kiss or anything, but what if it happens accidentally or something? And what about your teeth, what happens to them? Where are you supposed to put your hands, anyway? What if I'm horrible at it? But I want to stop over-thinking the situation and just let it be, but it's not that simple - and I  _really_ wish it was. But, finally, our lips meet, and my eyes flutter close at the contact.

I've seen movies and read books about first kisses, and most of them talk about sparks going off the moment their lips touch, or something like that. None of that is happened now; all I feel now is my heart pounding wildly in my chest, and my hands twitching nervously, not sure whether or not to touch Fred, and his lips on mine, and my heart swelling so much it's as if it might explode, and feeling all warm and fuzzy everywhere. And I can feel his thumb still rubbing circles on my back, and the other on my cheek, and I realize that I haven't even kissed back yet.

I finally return to kiss, my hands going up slowly to rest on his shoulders, before moving to wrap around his neck. The hand on my cheek moves up tentatively to my hair, tangling his fingers in the delicate curls. It's very apparent that he's done this before, which doesn't surprise me. The only thing that surprises me is that I've never actually though about the fact that Fred had kisses other girls. Still, there's a sort of hesitancy in the way that he kisses me that I don't think he's used on any other girl he's kissed.

But it soon seems that he's getting over his nervousness, because the hand on my waist moves up to the small of my back, pushing me closer to him, and closing any space left between us. One of my hands makes shapes on the back of his neck with my thumb, while his hand rubs my back slowly.

Just as I'm getting used to the feel of his lips, and of his hand playing with my hair, he pulls away, leaving me rather disappointed, though I try not to let it show on my face. As Fred leans down so that our foreheads are touching, I remember dimly that one time during the summer before my third year, Candy had been bragging about how she'd just had her first kiss, describing in disgusting detail what happened, saying that it ended in a loud smacking noise. That didn't happen when Fred pulled away, and I'm glad; I'd been very disgusted when Candy had added that last bit - she really had failed in making me jealous of her little experience. In any case, I'm willing to bet anything in the world that this kiss was much nicer than any one Candy had ever had.

Even though the fell of his hot breath on my skin makes me weak, and the small smile on his face makes my heart melt, I realize how much more complicated things between me and Fred are about to get. I should be a lot more upset by this, but I can't bring myself to be, not when I've just kissed Fred Weasley.

"Do - do you wanna just go back to Gryffindor tower?" Fred finally says, breaking the silence. "I think the Ball's going to be over pretty soon, anyway."

"Yeah," I nod. "Yeah, all right."

He moves away, and opens the door, checking to see if anyone's there. Apparently, the coast is clear, because he takes my hand and we walk out of the broom cupboard, me having to constantly remind myself to move my legs. The walk to Gryffindor tower is mostly silent, the silence occasionally broken by a funny comment from Fred, and an either sarcastic reply or a laugh from me.

"Fairy lights," Fred says, and I jump slightly, shocked at the realization that we're at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Lairy Fights, yes, that's it!" the Fat Lady hiccups, clearly very drunk, before swinging forward on her hinges and allowing us in.

Once in the common room, we stand awkwardly, stealing glances at each other, not quite sure of what to do now.

"You know, I'm pretty tired," I say finally. "I - I think I'm just going to go to bed."

"Yeah," he says, saying the words that I've been saying a lot for the past little while. "Yeah, all right. Me too."

"Goodnight, then," I say, giving him a smile, and going to walk to the girls' dormitories, but Fred takes my hand quite suddenly, and pulls me back to him.

He kisses me again, one hand still holding mine, the other wrapping around my waist. I kiss him back, after getting over the shock, and after a moment, he pulls away. This kiss was much shorter than the first.

"Goodnight," he whispers, his face close to mine, before letting me go.

I stay rooted to my spot for a moment, unable to move, before finally managing to get my feet to move. One foot in front of the other, trying to act normal as what's happened really hits me. But I suddenly stop, turning around.

"Fred?"

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I had a really great time," I say in a slightly nervous voice.

"Yeah, me too," he says, a brilliant grin crossing his face.

Once in my dormitory, I sink to the floor, my back against the closed door, a smile slowly spreading across my face when I hit the floor. My hand travels up to my lip, touching the spot where Fred had kissed me, unable to believe it. I hadn't been expecting this, not at all.

I manage to get to my feet, and move to my bed, collapsing onto it, still in my dress and shows. I stare up into the scarlet canvas of my four poster, smiling like an idiot. I should feel confused, I should be worried about what's going to happen to our friendship, but I can't bring myself to feel anything but happy. I can't bring myself to think of any of the negative outcomes of this for longer than a millisecond.

I don't know who long I lie there, smiling widely and reliving both kisses in my mind, wishing they had lasted longer, when the door opens and Hermione walks in. Her face is tear-stained and red, and the before delicate knot is now messy and falling out. Shocked by this, I sit up on the bed, trying not to look like I'd just had an amazing time.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" I ask, shocked. "Did Viktor do something? If he did, I swear I'll-"

"It's not Viktor," she cuts me off, trying very hard not to cry. "It's _Ron_!"

"What did Ron do?" I ask her, anger at Ron boiling up inside me.

And Hermione bursts into a recount of an argument that she'd had with Ron down in the common room moments before. By the time she's finished, she looks both furious and terribly sad.

 _Not jealous, my ass, Ron,_ I think angrily to myself.

"The little prat," I say quietly, shaking my head. "The little _jealous_ prat."

I continue to reassure her that Ron's just stupid sometimes, and that he only saud that because she went to the Ball with Krum instead of him. She just shakes her head, and started to get changed, thanking me for my supportive words. I follow suit, realizing that it won't be comfortable to fall asleep in a dress.

"Anyway, enough about my night," she says. "What about yours?"

"It was... all right," I say vaguely, the wide smile returning on my face.

"What happened?" she asks me, clearly noticing my expression. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"He kissed me," I reply quietly, looking down at the floor, but my smile widening. "Fred. He kissed me."

"What?" she says in surprise. "Really? What happened?"

So, I launch into a summary of what happened starting with when we went on a walk, and ending with the scene in the common room.

"So, you two are together now?" she asks, grinning.

My smile disappears, replaced by a frown, and my brow furrows. I didn't think about that...

"I - I don't really know," I admit. "He didn't ask me to be his girlfriend or anything."

"Did he ask you out?"

"N - no," I answer, not rather confused. Why  _did_ Fred kiss me, but not ask me out, or anything?

"Oh," Hermione says, rather surprised. "Oh. Well - well, I'm sure it's only a matter of time..."

I just shrug in reply, now quite confused instead of happy.

"I'm going to sleep," I say finally. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Hazel," she says, and I crawl into bed, falling asleep with guesses on why Fred acted the way he did in my mind.

 

***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes***

 

Fred bounded up the steps to the boys' dormitories, unable to believe his luck. Not only did he manage to take Hazel to the Yule Ball, but he kissed her twice. He'd hardly been thinking when he kissed her, so when she kissed him back he'd been shocked, and it took a lot not to get too cocky.

It was a very surreal think, kissing Hazel Knight. It's not like he hasn't kissed girls before, but just the fact that it was  _her_. He'd been very hesitant and careful, not wanting to anger or upset her. And he'd done the opposite - she'd kissed him _back_.

He was beyond happy, so happy he couldn't bring himself to think that he'd probably made things between him and Hazel extremely complicated for more than a second, nor could he really think about the fact that if something went wrong their friendship was out the window. He really couldn't think about anything negative at the moment. He was too bloody  _happy_ to really consider them.

He wasn't surprised when he found that the dormitory was empty when he entered it. After all, the Yule Ball still wasn't finished. He started to change into his pyjamas, pondering cheerfully how he should greet Hazel the next day. Perhaps he could kiss her again? He already knew that now he'd kissed her once, he wanted to do it loads more times. There's something addictive about her kiss, and he already very much longed to kiss her again.

When Lee strode into the dormitory, he smiled even wider and waved, making Fred realize that he'd been grinning the entire time he was in the dormitory.

"How was Patricia Stimpson?" Fred asked.

" _Very_ good, thank you," Lee replied with a smirk. "And how was Hazel Knight?"

"Even better," Fred answered, with a smirk to compete with Lee's.

"Why? What happened? George told me you two had a bit of a rough beginning."

"Maybe. But the ending was quite smooth, I think." Fred grinned.

"All right, why are you so cocky?" Lee asked, grinning himself.

"I kissed her," Fred replied matter-of-factly, trying not to sound too pleased with himself.

"You kissed her?" Lee said, surprised. "On the lips and everything?"

Fred nodded, with a bit of a laugh at his shock, and after a few seconds, Lee joined in on the laughing himself.

"What's so funny?" George asked, as he entered the dormitory himself.

"Hazel and this ladies' man over here had a bit of a snog session," Lee replies.

"Two, actually," Fred corrected, pretending as though it was a very serious matter.

"You're joking," George said, looking at his twin, and both Fred and Lee shook their heads.

"That's brilliant!" George said, patting Fred on the back as though he had completed an almost impossible task - which, to Fred, he had.

"How was she, then?" Lee asked promptly. "How good is she at snoggin? On a scale of one to ten, then, and be honest!"

"On a scale of one to ten..." Fred said slowly, pretending to ponder the situation with much seriousness and consideration. "I'd say... eleven."

George laughed, but couldn't stop himself from joining in on all the laughing.

"So, you two are dating, then?" George asked, once finished laughing, and Fred's smile fades.

"What?" he said blankly.

"You know, are you together?" he elaborated, and Fred frowned.

"Well... no..." he said slowly, his brown furrowing. "I don't... I don't  _think_ so..."

He hadn't thought of that.

"What d'you mean you don't think so?" Lee asked, confused, and when Fred shrugged, he added, "Did you ask her out on a date?"

He hadn't thought of that, either.

"No."

"Did you ask her to be your girlfriend?" George inquired.

"No," Fred repeated.

He  _definitely_ hadn't thought of that. And, all the happiness from having kissed Hazel gone, he bitterly wished he had.

 _I'm such a fucking idiot,_ Fred thought, wishing he could go back in time to that moment in the common room and at least ask her out on another date.

In that moment, Fred decided that he really needed to think about things more - and he needed to stop being so stupid. That was very important, too.


	35. Hagrid's Secret

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

****Chapter Thirty-Five: Hagrid's Secret** **

 

The next few days before term continues are rather quiet and normal, except for a few new changes.

Hermione and Ron, it seems, have come to a sort of silent agreement to pretend that their argument the previous night hadn't happened, as, contrary to my worries, are acting quite normal to one another, albeit a little formal.

Oh, and let's not forget, Hagrid's half giant. Harry and Ron spied on him and Madame Maxime having a bit of a moment. I was quite surprised at the news, and I was surprised I was so surprised. I mean, I knew he was - well - abnormally large, but I didn't quite consider that he could have giant's blood in him.

Just as I expected, things between Fred and I have changed completely. One breakfast sitting beside him on the day term starts up again shows that quite clearly. We'd often chance side glances at each other at the same time, and, upon noticing the other looking at them, would look back at their plates just as quickly. This is something that everyone around us picked up on quickly, which made Harry and Ron rather confused, as they don't know that Fred and I kissed.

"Er - am I missing something?" Harry asks.

"Fred and Hazel made out in a broom cupboard during the Ball," George informs them casually, before taking a gulp of pumpkin juice.

"Not the way I would've phrased it," I say, embarrassed, "but I suppose that's the general idea."

Harry looks surprised and amused, but not as much as Ron, who lets out a laugh.

"How was it, then?"

I choke on my pumpkin juice in surprise, causing Ginny to have to thump my back immediately until I'm all right. He's got to be kidding, right?

"Ron!" Hermione says reproachfully, but Ron ignores her, looking from me to Fred.

But I refuse to say anything, looking determinedly at my plate. I'm not going to say anything until Fred does. Chancing a glance at him, I see him doing the same thing, apparently with the same intentions as me. But I'm determined to keep silent about it. He's going to have to talk first.

Fortunately, we're both spared the awkwardness, when Harry announces that the bell will ring soon, and that we ought to get to class before we're all late. Murmuring our assent, we stand up and say our goodbyes before Harry, Ron, Hermione and I head for another boring History of Magic lesson.

"What's up with you?" Ron asks me cluelessly, as we leave the Great Hall.

"You're a git, that's what," I hiss, refusing to look at him.

Ron doesn't seem to understand what he's done wrong, and I'm certainly not telling him. I refuse to speak to him all throughout the lesson, ignoring Ron's attempts to catch my attention. Ron's attempts greatly annoy Hermione, as well, who actually tries to write notes and pay attention during History of Magic. And I imagine it's hard enough trying to pay attention to Binn's boring monologue, without Ron's loud voice causing a distraction.

"What did I even do wrong?" Ron snaps, after class ends.

"Why the hell would you ask what snogging Fred was like right in front of him?" I say, exasperated.

"Oh, well, I'm very sorry," Ron says impatiently. "Now, are you going to tell me?"

"It was... nice," I reply awkwardly. "Yeah, nice. It was really nice."

Of course, the word 'nice' doesn't justify the kiss whatsoever, but I really didn't want to go into too much detail about how I felt about it with anyone, didn't want to use the millions of words that had burst into my mind at the question.

"Thanks, Hazel," a voice says behind me, and, to my utter horror, Fred, George, and Lee appear in front of us, the latter two smirking, but not nearly as much as Fred. "You were nice to kiss, too."

In that moment, I was absolutely speechless. I couldn't think of a single thing to say, due to the fact that my mind had actually gone blank I was so embarrassed. Suddenly, all I can think is that I'm quite glad that my answer was so vague, glad that I only used the word 'nice'.

"Shut up," I finally manage to mumble, knowing Fred's just kidding me.

"Oh, but I'm being serious," he grins.

"Sure, you are," I say disbelievingly, my blush deepening.

"Really, though," he insists, very clearly enjoying my embarrassment more and more.

"Fred, just - not now, I'm going to be late to class. C'mon," I add to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

I start to hurry past him, but he stops me from leaving. I very nearly let out a groan. Hasn't he embarrassed me enough?

"Fred, please, later, I-"

But Fred places a hand on my shoulder gently, before leaning and kissing me on the lips right there in the corridor, in front of everyone. I very quickly forget that there are people all around, that Fred's probably doing this to embarrass me even more, as I kiss him back tentatively. When he pulls away, my mind starts working again, leaving me more confused than ever. He steps away from me, gesturing for me to continue on.

"Go on then," he says, smirking. "Before you're late to class."

"I - but you - you just - in front of - but you - how do you-" I splutter, then let out a noise of exasperation and confusion, before walking down the corridor as quickly as possible without making it look like I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

"Well, that was-" Harry began, amused.

"Don't even, Harry," I mumble, still trying to make sense of things.

During the rest of the day, my mind keeps straying to Fred no matter what it is I'm doing, causing some disastrous results in Transfiguration. And the more I think of him, the angrier I get. Who does he think he is, snogging me just to get a good reaction out of it? I bet he, George, and Lee had a good laugh about how I could hardly speak. So, at dinner, when they come over and greet me. I promptly stop eating, gather my stuff, and stride out without a word to any of them.

I ignore their confused voices, and keep moving until I reach the common room, where I sit on an armchair by the fire, and start working on my homework, still feeling quite hungry.

Around half an hour later, when Fred enters the common room, I immediately stop writing, pack up haphazardly, almost spilling a bottle of ink, and start towards the girls' dormitories, but he grabs my arm and stops me.

"What the hell is up with you?" he asks, bewildered.

I try to shake his arm off, but his grip tightens slightly, so, my anger building, I let it all out furiously.

"What's up with _me_? _What's up with me_? Let me _tell_ you what's up with me. It's you. You can't just snog me in the middle of the corridor in front of everyone for a laugh, that's what, Fred!"

"What?" Fred asks, even more confused than before. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean that you knew I was embarrassed so you decided to kiss me in front of all those people to see me blush even more!" I snap. "You wanted  _everyone_ to know what an effect you had on me, didn't you?"

"Wait a minute," he says, looking rather angry now. "Wait a minute. So, you think I snogged you for a laugh? You think that those times I kissed you, I do it as a joke?"

"Not the time at the Yule Ball, no," I admit. "But today you definitely did that just to laugh at me! I'm sure you, George, and Lee found it just  _hilarious_ , seeing me so embarrassed!"

"I don't - I didn't - you're being ridiculous!" Fred bursts out.

" _I'm_ being ridiculous?" I repeated incredulously. "I'm not the one who kisses people just to get a funny reaction out of it-"

" _I didn't do that just to get a reaction out of you_!" Fred nearly yells. "Honestly, who does that?"

"Apparently, you do," I snap.

And with that, I turn on my heel and stride away from him. As I walk, it occurs to me that the few people in the common room have been observing the scene, but I hardly care.

I open the door to the girls' dormitories, and close it with a slam to let out some of my fury.

 

***

 

The next day, I spend the majority of Herbology dreading having to go to Care of Magical Creatures. Not only are we still doing work with those bloody Skrewts, but with snow still thick upon the grounds, and freezing cold winds, I don't fancy the idea of having to work outside.

"On the bright side," Ron says, when I complain for the billionth time about how I'd really rather not do Care of Magical Creatures, "the Skrewts'll probably warm us up. They'll either chase us around, or blast off so forcefully that Hagrid's cabin'll catch fire."

I have to laugh at that, though, even though this doesn't make the prospect of my next class sound any more appealing.

When we arrive at Hagrid's cabin, I'm met with a surprise. It isn't Hagrid standing there waiting for us, as it normally is. Instead, an elderly witch with closely cropped grey hair and a prominent chin stands before us.

"Hurry up, now, the bell rang five minutes ago," the witch barks, as we struggle to reach her in the heavy snow.

"Who're you?" Ron asks bluntly. "Where's Hagrid?"

"My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank," she replies briskly. "I am your temporary Care of Magical Creatures teacher."

"What?" I ask, shocked. "Why? Where's Hagrid?"

"He is indisposed," she answers shortly.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I ask impatiently.

But Professor Grubbly-Plank ignores me. Bitch.

Soft, unpleasant laughter reaches my ears. Turning around, I see Draco Malfoy along with the other Slytherins joining the class. All of them look gleeful, and none of them seem surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank here instead of Hagrid.

"This way, please," Professor Grubbly-Plank says, and strides off around a paddock where the Beauxbatons horses are shivering.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I follow, looking back over our shoulders at Hagrid's cabin. The curtains are drawn. Perhaps he's ill? But why wouldn't Professor Grubbly-Plank just  _say_ that, instead of calling him  _indisposed_. Maybe she thinks that we're too thick to understand the concept of sickness.

Harry runs to catch up with her, and I assume that he's trying to get more answers out of her. I can tell by the look on his face that he's not getting any more out of her than I did. I consider asking Malfoy, since he seems to know what's going on, but I cancel that idea out quickly enough, because he'll probably milk the fact that he knows more than I do for all its worth.

The professor leads us towards a tree near the edge of the forest, where a large and beautiful unicorn is tethered to it. Despite my anger at Professor Grubbly-Plank, a smile crosses my face at the sight of it.

"Oh, it's so beautiful!" Lavender Brown whispers. "How did she get it? They're supposed to be really hard to catch!"

The unicorn is so brightly white that it makes the snow around it look grey. It paws the ground nervously with its golden hooves and throws back its horned head.

I can see Malfoy out of the corner of my eye, and the unicorn leaves my mind, Hagrid replacing it. I need to know. I'll just ask him, and if he takes advantage of the fact that he knows what's going on and I don't, then so be it. He's said and done worse before.

I walk over to Malfoy, trying to make it as subtle as possible too so that Professor Grubbly-Plank wouldn't notice that I'm not listening, carefully picking out my words in my head.

"What brings you around, Knight?" he smirks.

Pansy Parkinson looks from Malfoy, to me, then back again, before side-stepping closer towards him and grabbing his arm. Parkinson's obvious jealousy almost causes me to laugh.

"What happened to Hagrid?" I ask bluntly, crossing my arms, and regarding him in a very determined way.

"Wait, so you  _don't know_?" Malfoy says gleefully.

"D'you think I'd be asking anyone if I did? Especially  _you_?" I reply impatiently, stressing the word 'you' with contempt. "So, are you going to tell me, or what, because I'd like to pay at least some attention to the lesson."

But that last bit isn't necessarily true. I just think that unicorn is really beautiful. Parkinson and her group of giggling girls walk off, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe they just can't stand to be in my presence for so long.

"Oh, let's just say the stupid great oaf has just realized that he's a bit too - ahh -  _giant_ for the job," Malfoy replies.

I would get extremely annoyed at this answer. I would tell him not to call Hagrid a 'stupid great oaf'. I would yell at him to stop giving me cryptic answers and just tell me what happened to Hagrid. I would do and be all these things, if a little bell hadn't gone off in my head, going  _ding ding ding! Listen to this, this is important!_

Unfortunately, however, the thought hardly runs through my mind, when Professor Grubbly-Plank's sharp voice cuts through my mind. "You there! Miss-?"

I turn around, and, upon seeing that she's speaking to me, say shortly. "Knight. Hazel Knight."

"Well, Miss Knight, come along with the rest of the girls to get a closer look at the unicorn. You are a part of this class, too, you know."

_Wow, really? I'm a part of this class? I had no idea._

I hurry through the heavy snow to join the others girls, realizing that this is why Parkinson and her friends went away.

"What was that about?" Hermione whispers, as Professor Grubbly-Plank goes on about unicorns some more, raising her voice so the boys, standing near the paddock fence, can hear her as well. It's a waste though, as I highly doubt they're listening. I'm not even listening, myself.

"I was trying to get him to tell me why Hagrid isn't here," I reply.

"Did you find out?" she asks, and I shake my head.

"... in answer to your question, Miss Patil, the reason why it is in their nature for unicorns to prefer a woman's touch as oppose to a man's, is because women are known to be more gentle and tentative with animals, whereas men are more likely to hunt and kill. Of course, killing a unicorn is a very cruel thing that people rarely do, but all the same, men are more known to be cruel and aggressive than women are."

Her entire lecture is interesting enough and I'm learning a lot. And I hate every second of it.

 _She's not a better teacher than Hagrid, she's not a better teacher than Hagrid, she's not nearly as good of a teacher as Hagrid,_ I repeat determinedly in my mind.

But a part of me knows that that isn't true.

After the lesson ends, Hermione and I hurry over to catch up with Harry and Ron.

"I hope she stays, that woman!" Parvati Patil says earnestly, and my level of respect and liking for her lowers, and my level of hatred for her rises through the roof. "That's more what I thought Care of Magical Creatures would be like... proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters..."

"What about Hagrid?" Harry says angrily, as we walk up the steps to the double doors of the castle, and I nod in approval.

"What about him? He can still be Gamekeeper, can't he?" Parvati had been rather cold to Harry since the Ball, considering the fact that he had ignored her so much that she had to go find herself a new partner just to enjoy herself. It didn't seem to be a huge loss, though; she'd tell anyone who would listen that she and the Durmstrang boy had made plans to meet up in Hogsmeade, as though anyone but her, Lavender, and Padma Patil cared.

"Just because a creature isn't particularly pretty doesn't mean they're not  _proper creatures,_ " I snap at her. "You can't just have the pretty stuff, you need to see both, otherwise you're not learning nearly enough."

"Don't you dare tell me those Skrewts are proper creatures," Parvati retorts. "He probably bred those illegally."

"Do you have any proof of that?" I ask, though I quite agree with her on that.

"Well, no-"

"Then shut it," I snap.

Looking very upset by my attitude towards her, she and Lavender stride away huffily, whispering to each other and glancing back at me every few seconds. I roll my eyes at the pair of them. They're really not very good at being subtle, are they?

"That really was a good lesson, though," Hermione admits. "I didn't know half the stuff Professor Grubbly-Plank told us about uni-"

"Look at this!" Harry snarls, and he shoves a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ under Hermione's nose.

Hermione takes the article, and I read over her shoulder.

 

** Dumbledore's Giant Mistake **

_Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody's well-known habit of attacking anyone who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures._

_Rubeus_ _Hagrid, who admits to being expelled in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates._

_An alarmingly large and ferocious looking man, Hagrid has been using his new found authority to terrify the students in his care to a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lesson that many admit to being "very frightening"_

_"I was attacked by a hippogriff last year and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm," says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. "We all hate Hagrid, but we're too scared to say anything."_

_Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed "Blast-Ended Skrewts," highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of creatures is, of course, an activity closely monitored by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions._

_"I was just havin' some fun," he says, before hastily changing the subject._

_As is this weren't enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure-blood human. How mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown._

_Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass of Muggle killings of his reign and terror._

_While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa's son appears to have inherited her brutal nature._

_In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought about You-Know-Who's fall from power - thereby driving Hagrid's own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who's supporters into hiding. Perhaps Harry Potter is unaware of the truth about his large friend - but Albus Dumbledore has a duty to ensure that Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangerous of associating with part-giants._

 

My mouth falls open in horror and anger courses through me more strongly the further I read.

"How did that horrible Skeeter woman find out?" I say. "You don't think Hagrid told her, do you?"

"No," Harry shakes his head, leading the way to the Gryffindor table and throwing himself into a chair, furious. "He never even told us, did he? I reckon she was so mad at him for not saying loads of horrible stuff about me, she went ferreting around to try and get him back."

"And get him back, she did," I comment, looking up at the teachers' table at the front of the Great Hall. "The stupid old hag, look what she's done. He's not even at dinner."

"Maybe she heard him telling Madame Maxime at the Ball," Hermione suggests quietly.

"We would've seen her in the garden," Ron shakes his head. "Besides, she's not supposed to come into school grounds any more, Hagrid said Dumbledore banned her..."

"Maybe she's got an Invisibility Cloak," Harry says, ladling chicken casserole onto his plate and spilling it everywhere in his anger. "Sort of thing she'd do, hide in bushes and spy on people."

"Like you and Ron did, you mean," Hermione points out.

"We weren't trying to hear him!" Ron says indignantly. "We didn't have any choice! The stupid prat, talking about his giantess mother where anyone could've hear him!"

"We're got to go see him," Harry says. "Tonight, after dinner. Tell him we want him back... you do want him back, don't you?" Harry shoots at Hermione.

"I - well, I'm not going to pretend it wasn't a nice change, having a proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson for once - but I do want Hagrid back, of course I do!" Hermione adds quickly, positively quailing under the look Harry is giving her.

So, that night, after dinner, we troop out of the castle and hurry across the grounds to Hagrid's cabin, drawing our cloaks more tightly to ourselves against the cold, fierce winds. I knock on the cold wood of the door, and Fang's booming barks, as usual, answer, but Hagrid does not.

"Hagrid, it's us!" Harry shouts, pounding on the door. "Open up!"

Hagrid, however, still doesn't answer. We can hear Fang scratching at the door, whining, but it still does not open. We hammer on it for several more minutes, and Ron even goes to bang on one of the windows, but the only response is still coming from Fang.

"What's he avoiding us for?" Hermione wonders aloud as we finally give up and head back up to the castle. "He surely doesn't think we'd care about him being half-giant?"

But apparently, Hagrid does think we care. We don't see a sign of him all week. He doesn't appear at the staff table during mealtimes, nor do we see him doing his gamekeeper duties on the grounds, and Professor Grubbly-Plank continues to take up Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

 

***

 

During a Hogsmeade trip that Saturday, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I sit at a table in the Three Broomsticks, sipping on butterbeer. Hermione's just going on about S.P.E.W again, when Ron interrupts her.

"Uh-oh," he says, staring at the door.

Finding what he's staring at, I add, "Something wicked this way comes."

Rita Skeeter has just entered the building. She's wearing robes of a banana yellow today, her nails are painted shocking pink, and, as usual, she is accompanied by her paunchy photographer. She buys drinks, and her and the photographer make their way through the crowd to a nearby table, all of us glaring at her as she approaches. She's talking very fast about something, in a very satisfied way, which means one thing; whatever it is she's talking about, it's not good.

"... didn't seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think?"

"Probably because you're a foul little git that ruins lives for a living," I mumble, though a small part of me is amused at the fact that the man's name is Bozo. But perhaps that's just a nickname.

"And what's he doing with a pack of goblins in town, anyway? Showing them the sights... what nonsense... he was always such a bad liar..."

"Trying to ruin someone else's life, are you?" Harry says loudly.

A few people look around. Rita Skeeter's eyes widen behind her glasses as she sees who had spoken.

"Harry!" she beams, as though he had not just insulted her. "How lovely! Why don't you come and join-"

"I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," Harry says furiously. "What did you do that to Hagrid for, eh?"

Rita Skeeter raises a heavily pencilled eyebrow.

"Our readers have a right to know the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my-"

"Who the hell cares if he's half-giant?" Harry shouts. "There's nothing wrong with him!"

The whole pub suddenly goes very quiet. Madam Rosmerta is staring from behind the bar, apparently oblivious to the fact that the flagon of mulled mead she's filling is overflowing. My eyes wander around the nearly silent pub, before stopping at Harry once more.

Rita Skeeter's smile flickers for a moment, but she hitches it back on her face almost at once; she snaps open her bag, pulls out her Quick-Quotes Quill, and says, "How about giving me an interview about the Hagrid you know, Harry? The man behind the muscles. Your unlikely friendship and the reason behind it. Would you call him a father substitute?"

Hermione stands up very quickly, clutching the bottle of butterbeer in her hand as though it's a grenade, and I find myself wishing that she would throw it at her.

"You horrible woman," she says, through gritted teeth, "you don't care, do you, anything for a story, and anyone will do, won't they? Even Ludo Bagman-"

"Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," Rita Skeeter snaps, her eyes hardening as they fall on Hermione. "I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl... not that it needs it-" she adds, eyeing Hermione's bushy hair.

I stand up, shaking with anger. I take a deep breath, trying to restrain myself, before finally speaking, "Let's go. Harry, Ron, Hermione, c'mon."

I give Rita Skeeter a very cold glare, mentally calling her a thousand rude things, before sweeping quickly past her and out the door the Three Broomsticks.

"She'll be after you next, Hermione," Ron says in a low and worried voice, as we hurry back up the street.

"Let her try!" Hermione says defiantly, shaking with rage. "I'll show her! Silly little girl, am I? Oh, I'll get her back for this! First Harry, then Hagrid..."

"Speaking of Hagrid," I add determinedly, "we're about to pay him a little visit."

"He won't answer," Harry says.

"We'll see about that," I reply, quickening my pace.

"You don't know Rita Skeeter," Ron insists nervously. "I'm serious, Hermione, she'll dig something up on you-"

"My parents don't read The Daily Prophet, she can't scare me into hiding!" Hermione says, who had quickened her pace along with mine. "And Hazel's right, Hagrid isn't hiding any more! He should've never let that excuse for a human being upset him! Come on!"

Hermione breaks into a run, and I immediately follow, and, together, we lead them all the way back up the road, through the gates flanked by the winged boars, and up through the grounds to Hagrid's cabin. the curtains are still drawn, and we can hear Fang's booming barks from across the door.

I leap up the steps to the front door, and start hammering on the door.

"Hagrid!" I shout. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares that your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul woman do this to you! Hagrid, enough of this, open the door, you're being-"

The door opens, and I stop speaking very suddenly, for, it's not Hagrid who answers the door, but Albus Dumbledore.

"Good evening," he says pleasantly, smiling down at us.

I suddenly quite wish to wink through the floor and disappear. Moments ago I was furious, but now I just feel rather embarrassed.

"We - er - we wanted to see Hagrid," I tell him in a surprisingly small voice, considering the fact that I was shouting seconds ago.

"Yes, I surmised as much," Dumbledore nods, eyes twinkling. "Why don't you come in."

"Oh... um..." I glance back at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, before turning back to Dumbledore and nodding sheepishly, "okay."

I enter the cabin first, Harry, Ron, and Hermione following after, lowering my eyes so that I don't have to look at Dumbledore, especially his twinkling blue eyes, seemingly always calm, even when students are banging on a teacher's door, shouting at them. Fang launches himself on Harry immediately, while my eyes look around the cabin.

Hagrid is sitting at his table, where there are two large mugs of tea. He looks a real mess; his face is blotchy, his eyes swollen, and his hair looks like a wig of tangled wire. It's odd to think, now looking at it, that just a few months ago, he'd been trying to tame his hair - _trying_ being the key word here.

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry says.

Hagrid looks up, as though he has only just noticed the new people in his home.

"'Lo," he says, in a very hoarse voice.

"More tea, I think," Dumbledore says, drawing his wand and twiddling it; a revolving tea tray along with a plate of cakes materializes, and he directs it with his wand to the table.

We sit back down again, and, more to give myself something to do than anything, I take the cup nearest me and take a sip. I had prepared a whole novel of things I wanted to say to Hagrid, but the incident with Dumbledore seems to have caused me to lose my voice.

"Did you by any chance hear what Miss Knight was shouting, Hagrid?" Dumbledore says, after a long pause.

I turn slightly pink, but Dumbledore's kind smile helps somewhat, though I'm not sure in what way.

"Hazel, Hermione, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down your door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry says earnestly, staring at Hagrid. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow - sorry, Professor," he adds quickly, looking over at Dumbledore.

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't an idea what you just said, Harry," Dumbledore says, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

"Er - right," Harry says sheepishly. "I just meant - Hagrid, how could you think we'd care about what that - woman - wrote about you?"

Two fat tears fall out of Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and run slowly down his face, until they get lost in his tangled beard.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," Dumbledore says, still looking carefully up at the ceiling. "I have shown you letters from countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it-"

"Not all of 'em," Hagrid points out hoarsely. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time," Dumbledore says, now peering sternly at Hagrid over his half-moon glasses. "Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh - yeh're not half-giant!" Hagrid argues croakily.

"Hagrid, look at we've got for relatives!" Harry speaks up, gesturing at me. "We're got the Dursleys, and the Martins!"

"An excellent point," Professor Dumbledore says. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure Aberforth can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," Hermione says quietly, "please, come back, we really miss you."

Hagrid gulps, more tears leaking out of his eyes and into his beard. Dumbledore stands up.

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," he says. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

Dumbledore strides across the cabin to the door, only pausing to scratch Fang behind the ears. When the door shuts behind him, Hagrid begins to sob behind his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Hermione keeps patting his arm, and, at last, Hagrid looks up, his eyes very red, and says, "Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he sis," Ron agrees. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," Hagrid says, wiping his eyes on the back of his hands. "Ar, he's righ', o' course - yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'..."

More tears escape from his eyes, but he wipes them away more forcefully, before adding, "Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid gets to his feet, walks over to his dresser, opens a drawer, and pulls open a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid is a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but the face is what surprises me. It's beardless, young, round and smooth - he couldn't be any older than eleven. It's hard to believe that Hagrid used to once look like that, looking up at what he'd grow to be,

"That was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaks. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, you see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year. Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... that's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren't... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just have big bones rather than stand up and say - I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my old dad used to say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' And he's right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I look at each other nervously. I'd rather take a dozen Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk than have to admit that Harry and Ron had overheard their conversation, and therefore, Hermione and I know exactly what happened between the two, as well.

But Hagrid continues on talking, and when he starts talking about the Triwizard Tournament to Harry, how he'd like for Harry to win, my eyes wander to the photograph.

I had never thought of it. Never thought of the fact that Hagrid had once been young, and with parents. He'd always been such a fatherly figure, to the point where I just thought that was how it was. That he had just popped into the world with a beard, and his moleskin overcoat, went to Hogwarts and had been working there ever since.

Which is particularly weird, since I've always known that his father had died when he was younger, and that he was expelled in his third year - I had helped clear his name for that, after all. But it had never truly hit me until now.

It's strange to think that out of all the times I've talked to Hagrid, his family and his past have never come up. And there have been times where he'd listen to my stories, or Hermione's stories, or Ron's or Harry's, and he'd listen, so how is it that the roles have never been reversed? How is that he never told, and we never listened? I suppose that's the way he preferred it, with his mum being half-giant and his father dying when he was younger, but sometimes, like today, it was our turn to listen, and I'm fine with that.

It makes me feel like I'm actually there for him. Like it's not just me talking, and him giving. It makes me feel a lit less selfish.


	36. Preparing Harry

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Preparing Harry**

 

As the day of the second task grows nearer and nearer, I feel the same thing I had felt before the first task. I constantly ask Harry how he's doing with the egg. I know that my constant pestering must annoy him, but I can't stop myself from doing it.

"Yes, I've worked it out, Hazel," Harry would say, and I would nod and drop the subject for another day or so, but I'd still be uneasy, because something about Harry's expression when he says that tells me that he's not being entirely truthful.

So, when he tells Ron, Hermione, and I about his adventure of going to figure out what the egg clue meant - which included a run-in with Snape, Moody, and Filch - while we should be practising the Banishing Charm during Charms, I'm upset and disappointed at the fact that he had lied and that he still didn't truly know what he was doing, but not altogether surprised. I push those emotions aside, however, mulling over what Harry had told me about what happened between Snape and Moody. Hermione, however, does not seem to want to do the same.

"You said you'd already worked out that egg clue!" she says indignantly.

"Keep your voice down! I just need to - sort of fine-tune it, all right?" Harry says crossly.

But I feel like he has to do a lot more than just that.

"Besides, there are more important things to focus on right now," he adds.

"Right," Ron agrees. "Snape said Moody's searched his office as well? What... d'you reckon Moody's here to keep an eye on Snape as well as Karkaroff?"

"Well, I dunno if that's what Dumbledore asked him to do, but he's definitely doing it," Harry replies. "Moody says Dumbledore only lets Snape stay because he's giving him a second chance or something..."

"What?" Ron says, eyes widening, waving his hand haphazardly so that the cushion he's practising on spins high into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier, and landing heavily onto Flitwick's desk. "Harry... maybe Moody thinks Snape put your name into the Goblet of Fire!"

"Oh, Ron," Hermione says, shaking her head sceptically, "we thought Snape was trying to kill Harry before, and it turned out he was saving his life, remember?"

She Banishes a cushion, and it soars across the room and lands in the box that we're aiming at. I try to mimic her actions, but the cushion ends up just beside the box. Probably because I'm not really concentrating; I'm usually quite good at Charms.

"I dunno, Moody may be paranoid, but he knows a dark wizard when he sees one," I point out. "And Snape does definitely seem the type..."

"I don't care what Moody says," Hermione insists. "Dumbledore's not stupid. He was right to tryst Hagrid and Lupin, even though loads of people wouldn't have given them jobs, so why shouldn't he be right about Snape, even if he is a bit-"

"-evil," Ron says promptly. "Come on, Hermione, why are all these Dark wizard catchers searching his office, then?"

"Why has Mr. Crouch been pretending to be ill?" Hermione wonders aloud, ignoring Ron. "It's funny, isn't it? That he can't manage to turn up at the Yule Ball, but he can get up here in the middle of the night when he wants to?"

"You just don't like Mr. Crouch because of that elf, Winky," Ron says matter-of-factly, sending a cushion soaring out the window.

"You just want to think Snape's up to something," Hermione retorts, sending her own cushion soaring neatly into the box.

"I just want to know what Snape did with his first chance, if he's on his second one," Harry says grimly, sending his cushion flying neatly into the box on top of Hermione's.

"Let's focus on getting you through this tournament alive before we start speculating about how Snape screwed up, yeah?" I say, sending a cushion flying on top of Harry's.

 

***

 

And so it begins. Just like we did for the first task, we spend hours on end in the library, researching possible ways to be able to breathe under water for an hour. And just like the first task, most books we skim through are unhelpful. I wonder how Hermione feels, knowing that for once in her life the library is failing her.

Days pass by, and we still don't know what Harry can do. Panic starts settling in. The only reason I'd been avoiding it sinking in for so long is that at the end of each unsuccessful day, I'd think to myself,  _Tomorrow... tomorrow we'll find something... today we were unlucky, but tomorrow we'll find something. Nothing today, but tomorrow we'll find something... definitely tomorrow... it'll be our lucky day tomorrow..._ But I can't say that tonight.

The second task is tomorrow.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I sit at a table in the library, tearing through book after book, fruitlessly trying to find something useful, a pile of books all around us.

Every time I start to lose focus, I imagine what it'd be like for Harry if he had to march up to the judges and announce that he couldn't do the task. I imagine the crestfallen look on Hagrid's face, who's beyond certain that Harry will win; the triumphant look on the faces of Fleur Delacour, Madame Maxime, and Professor Karkaroff; the malicious smiles of all the Slytherins, particularly Malfoy, and I start to focus again. The downside to this tactic is that the panicky, anxious feeling inside of me grows every time I do.

"I don't reckon it can be done," Ron says flatly from across the table, being the first to speak in what feels like months. "There's nothing. Nothing. Closest was that thing to dry up ponds and puddles, that Drought Charm, but that's nowhere near powerful enough to drain the lake."

"And I reckon you'd lose points for upsetting some of those merpeople, too," I add dryly.

"There must be something," Hermione mutters, holding a candle closer to her. She looks as tired as I feel. "They'd never have set a task that was un-doable."

"They have," Ron insists. "Harry, just go down to the lake tomorrow, stick your head in the water, yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they've nicked, and see if they chuck it out. Best you can do, mate."

What Ron said was funny, and I would laugh, but I feel too tired and worried to actually let out a laugh. Maybe I would be able to if the task wasn't tomorrow and Harry wasn't completely unprepared. A tiny smile plays across my lips, however.

"There's a way of doing it!" Hermione insists crossly. "There just has to be!"

Apparently, she's taking the library's lack of useful information to be a personal insult. I probably would, too, if I'd been spending years thinking the library held the answers to everything, only to abruptly find it didn't have the answer to anything I really needed.

"I know what I should've done," Harry says, resting, face down, on a large book with tiny font. "I should've learned to be an Animagus like Sirius."

"Yeah, you could've turned into a goldfish any time you wanted!" Ron says.

"Or a frog," Harry yawns.

"Your best bet would be a shark," I say, my smile widening. "Looks more intimidating."

"It takes years to become an Animagus, and then you have to register yourself and everything," Hermione says vaguely, squinting down an index of a new book. "Professor McGonagall told us, remember... you've got to register yourself with the Improper Use of Magic office... what animal you become, and what markings, so you can't abuse it..."

I really do hope that she's just too tired to realize that we were joking.

"Hermione, I was joking," Harry says wearily. "I know I haven't got a chance into turning into a frog by tomorrow morning."

"Oh, this is no use!" Hermione says exasperatedly, snapping her book shut. "Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?"

"I wouldn't mind," a voice says. My smile fades rapidly when I recognize who it is. "be a talking point, wouldn't it?"

I take a deep breath, before turning around in my chair to face, just as I expected, Fred, George at his side. Fred's eyes meet with mine, and I just shrug and smile slightly. My anger at him had faded quickly; it's just not possible for me to stay mad at him for very long because he snogged me. I also realized I had overreacted a bit, maybe over-thought it all. And I don't know if he was that mad at me to begin with. I just didn't know how to get things going again, and I guess he didn't either. Fred returning my smile tells me that things have suddenly gone back to normal - whatever normal is with him at the moment; it's hard to tell.

Even the glance between us couldn't have lasted more than four seconds, it feels like ages, but when he looks away, it feels like it ended way too soon.

"What're you two doing here?" Ron asks.

"Looking for you lot," George replies. "McGonagall wants you, hazel, and you too, Hermione."

"Why?" Hermione asks, surprised, before adding to me, "You haven't done anything, have you?"

"I don't think so," I reply honestly. "And if I did, why would she want to see you, too?"

"Dunno... she was looking a bit grim, though," Fred replies.

"Thanks, Fred," I say sarcastically.

"Hazel, I swear if you've done something-" Hermione begins angrily.

"I haven't done anything!" I insist defensively.

"I never said she looked  _mad_ , you know," Fred points out. "Just a bit grim."

"Anyway, we're supposed to take you down to her office," George continues.

Hermione and I glance at each other, and then turn to look at Harry and Ron. My heart speeds up, worry welling up inside me. Is McGonagall about to tell us off? Did she notice that we've been helping Harry, when he should be working by himself?

But, no... that can't be it... if she'd noticed Hermione and I helping Harry, surely she would've noticed Ron, as well? But she doesn't want to see him... so what does she want?

"All right, okay," I say, finally, getting up from my chair.

"We'll meet you back in the common room," Hermione adds in an undertone. "Bring as many books as you can, okay?"

"Right," Harry nods uneasily.

"See you in a bit," I say, trying for a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, see you," Ron nods, looking as anxious as I feel.

Hermione and I follow Fred and George out the library, all four of us silent.

As we walk through the corridors, I'm the first to speak again.

"So, you're sure you don't know _anything_?" I ask. "Sure she didn't let something slip, or anything?"

"Does McGonagall seem like the type to let things slip?" Fred replies. "Nah, we don't know anything except she wants to see the two of you."

"Can't be anything too bad, though," George adds, trying to reassure us. "Your punishments are never  _too_ bad. The most you've ever gotten was - what? - two months of detention? And you're with Hermione, which automatically means that you're safe."

Though those are very good points, I don't feel any less nervous.

Upon reaching McGonagall's office, Fred knocks on the door. The talking coming from the other side of the door stops immediately.

"Enter," McGonagall's voice says, and Fred opens the door.

I'm taken by surprise when I look around the room; McGonagall is not alone. By her side is Professor Dumbledore, along with Madame Maxime, Professor Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, and Percy Weasley - which means that Barty Crouch is still too ill to be doing his duties. So how exactly can he sneak into the castle in the dead of night? Also sitting awkwardly in two squashy chintz armchairs and looking at Hermione and I nervously, are Cho Change, and a small blonde-haired girl.

"Thank you, you may go now," McGonagall says, nodding slightly towards Fred and George.

They nod, and turn to leave, both looking curious as to what's going on. When the door closes behind them, Dumbledore starts to speak.

"Welcome, Miss Knight, Miss Granger," he says kindly, his eyes twinkling as he smiles warmly at us. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

With that, he draws his wand, twiddles it, and two more chintz armchairs appear in mid-air, revolving slowly, before gently settling next to each other on the ground. Hermione and I glance nervously at each other, before sitting down on the edge of our seats. I chew on my lip nervously, placing my hands on my lap, twiddling my thumbs.

"No need to be nervous," Dumbledore adds casually. "You're not in any sort of trouble."

"Zen why are we 'ere?" the blonde girl asks nervously, and I detect a thick French accent.

I study the girl closer for a moment. The silvery sheet of blonde hair, the flawless complexion, the sparkling blue eyes, and the accent remind me of Fleur Delacour. In fact, this girl seems to be exactly what Fleur Delacour would look and sound like had she been around ten years younger. It must be her younger sister. But what's she doing here?

"You are here because you are all an essential part to the second task, which, as you all know, will be taking place tomorrow morning," Dumbledore replies pleasantly.

"How?" I ask, confused.

"In the second task, the champion has an hour to retrieve the thing that he or she would miss the most if they were to disappear," Ludo Bagman continues. "Or, in this case, the  _person_ that he or she would miss most. You will all be flattered to hear that you are the people that one of the champions will miss most. Miss Delacour, you are the person Fleur Delacour would miss most - and no surprise, too, considering that you're sisters!"

I knew it.

"Miss Chang, you are the person that Cedric Diggory would miss the most," Bagman goes on.

Now, that's a bit of a surprise. I mean, I know they're dating, but they haven't been for that long. I didn't know he loved her that much. Cho, understandably, suddenly goes a very bright shade of pink, and lowers her gaze to the ground.

"Miss Granger, you are the person that Viktor Krum would miss the most," Bagman says, his gaze shifting from Cho to Hermione.

Cho's blush is absolutely nothing to Hermione's. She lowers her head so much that her hair falls over her face, shielding her face from view. I imagine she's quite grateful for that.

"And Miss Knight, you are the person that Harry Potter would miss the most," Bagman concludes, settling his gaze on me.

This doesn't surprise me, even ignoring the fact that Harry and I have been friends for nearly ten years. Fleur Delacour has never spoken a word to me, other than the time when I accidentally bumped into her on the way out of the great Hall and she apologized for bumping into me, but also advised, rather unkindly, that I watch where I was going; I'm quite certain that the only reason Viktor Krum is aware of my existence is because of Hermione; Cedric and I have become friends, but we're not nearly so close that I would be the thing that he would miss the most; which only leaves Harry.

Hermione and I glance at each other. If we're the things that the champions are going to have to retrieve, that means we're going to be left with the merpeople for an hour unless our champion finds us. What if our champion doesn't find us in time? Will they just leave us to die? People have died in this tournament...

But, no; that's ridiculous. There's no way Dumbledore would just let us die. Perhaps Professor Karkaroff,  _maybe_ even Madame Maxime, but certainly not Dumbledore. We have nothing to worry about...

"Anyway, the task will take place in the Black Lake," Bagman says. "And-"

"Wait,  _in_ zat lake?" Fleur's sister exclaims.

"Yes, in the lake," Dumbledore confirms, smiling reassuringly at the girl.

"But how will we  _breathe_?" Cho asks, suddenly looking very scared.

"I'm going to be putting a spell on each of you," Dumbledore replies, and, noticing Fleur's sister's terrified expression, he adds gently, "and I can assure it won't hurt a bit. All it will do is put you in a sort of coma, except you won't need to breathe. The spell will be in effect from the moment I put it on you, until you resurface."

"And what happens if your champion doesn't get us in time?" Hermione asks anxiously.

"What, starting to lose faith in Krum already?" Bagman says, laughing heartily. For the sake of being polite, I give him a strained sort of smile, but I don't find the remark remotely funny. "I believe that Albus has made an agreement with the merpeople that if you do not resurface within at least two hours after the task started with your champion, they will bring you up to the surface themselves. Is that correct, Albus?"

"It is, Ludo," Dumbledore confirms, nodding.

"So, as you can see, you will all be perfectly safe from start to finish," Bagman concludes. "No need to worry. Now, line up and Albus will put the spell on you."

We all get up out of the chairs, and line up beside each other. Dumbledore stands in front of Fleur's sister first, which means that he's going to be starting with her. After her it's Cho, then Hermione. I'll be the last to have the spell cast on me. I wish I could switch places with the younger girl. I'd much rather go first. Going through this would be a lot easier if I didn't have to see three people collapse, as though in comas before me.

Dumbledore twiddles his wand, and all the chintz armchairs disappear, replaced by large soft mats, placed behind each of us. Then Dumbledore points his wand at the girl, who flinches. He gives her another reassuring smile, before his face becomes focused and serious. The next moment, the girl's eyes close, and she collapses to the floor onto the mat.

Hermione and Cho let out tiny gasps, and my eyes widen.

 _It's safe... it's perfectly safe... we won't be in any harm... Dumbledore wouldn't put us in any harm..._ I repeat to myself sternly, trying not to feel too afraid. Feeling afraid isn't going to do me any good right now. I can't run away from this, and I can't fight off Dumbledore - even if I  _wanted_ to.

Dumbledore moves to Cho, who tenses, looking scared.

"I promise you, you're in no danger," Dumbledore assures her, before doing the same to Cho; she collapses onto her mat just like Fleur's sister.

Then he goes over to Hermione. Anxiety is clear in her eyes, but she does not flinch like Fleur's sister, nor does she tense like Cho. The only thing that gives her away is her eyes. They're the only thing stopping her from having a really good poker face. Dumbledore points his wand at Hermione, and she collapses onto the mat, her eyes closed, and now that the only thing that gives her away is out of sight, she looks totally expressionless. I take a deep breath.

I'm next.

Dumbledore steps in front of me. He examines me closely for a moment, and I get a peculiar feeling of being x-rayed. I make my face as expressionless as possible, hoping that Dumbledore won't be able to tell that I'm nervous.

But of course, he could tell.

"There really is no need to feel afraid or nervous," he repeats quietly. "This truly won't hurt a bit. The only thing you'll feel is a bit chilly once you resurface."

"I'm not afraid or nervous," I lie, avoiding his gaze.

"I'm afraid I beg to differ," Dumbledore replies gently. "You'll be fine."

I look up at Dumbledore to see him pointing his wand at me.

Then everything goes black.


	37. Honesty Hour

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Honesty Hour**

 

There's something really off-putting about suddenly waking up in the Black Lake, my hand holding tightly onto Harry's arm, gasping for breath, and trying to make sense of what's going on, while the sound of people yelling and screaming and cheering presses in all around me.

Out of breath, and looking around at stands packed with students, and around the lake, I realize quite a few things all at once: this is the second task - or rather, the end of it; there are horrifying-looking creatures surrounding us that must be merpeople, and it's so cold that I start shivering violently, goosebumps forming up and down my arms.

Not sure of what to do or say, I just start laughing. My laughter sounds a bit hysterical, and I wonder if Harry or anyone else is judging my sanity, since nothing seems to be funny, but I can't stop. All I can do is laugh.

"Y-you did it!" I shout ecstatically through laughs, throwing my arms around his neck. "You did it, Harry! How - how did you do it?"

"Later," he says tiredly. "Let's just get to the bank. And help me with her, I don't think she can swim very well."

It's only in that moment do I realize that a small blonde-haired girl is clinging onto Harry's other arm, shivering violently and looking terrified. Looking more closely, I realize that it's Fleur's little sister. I stop laughing rather abruptly. She was supposed to be Fleur's to retrieve, not Harry's.

"Harry, what happened down there?" I ask him, swimming over to take her other hand. "Why did you bring her up, too?"

"Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't leave her," Harry pants, as we start swimming over to the bank where the judges stand, watching. It's hard to hear what Harry's saying, because the merpeople are surrounding us, moving with us, singing some horrible screechy song. I look over the top of the girl's head to stare at Harry.

"Harry, did you actually think that Dumbledore would let us all drown is our champion wouldn't be able to get us?"

"The song said-" Harry begins.

"They only said that to scare you into getting back inside the time limit," I interrupt. "If two hours passed and the champion didn't get their hostage back up, the merpeople would bring them back up themselves. Dumbledore made an agreement with them. C'mon, Harry, you know Dumbledore, he wouldn't let us all die."

Harry looks rather annoyed, and I start to wonder if I sounded too patronizing. I mean, in his defence, I thought that Dumbledore  _would_ let us die, if only for a moment.

I can see Dumbledore and Bagman beaming at Harry and I, while Madam Pomfrey fusses over Hermione, Cedric, Cho, and Krum. Which means Harry was the last person to resurface.

At the moment, his nobility is both admirable and annoying.

Meanwhile, Madame Maxime has to restrain Fleur Delacour, who's beyond hysterical, fighting desperately to return to the water.

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she 'urt?"

"She's fine!" Harry says quietly.

He seems too tired to shout, so I do it for him.

"She's all right, she's fine!" I tell her.

When we reach the bank, Fleur breaks free of Madame Maxime and practically sprints to her sister, pulling her into her arms, and hugging her tightly. Dumbledore and Bagman pull Harry and I upright.

"It was ze Grindylows... zey attacked me... oh, Gabrielle, I thought... I thought..."

"Come here, you two," Madam Pomfrey says, seizing Harry and I, pulling us over to Hermione and the others, wraps each of us in a towel so tightly it feels like being put in a straitjacket, and forces a measure of a very hot potion down each of our throats.

Steam gushes out of our ears.

"Harry, well done!" Hermione cries. "You did it! You found out how to do it all by yourself!"

"Well-" he begins, but his eyes wander to Professor Karkaroff, and he raises his voice, saying, "yeah. Yeah, that's right."

I raise an eyebrow, but don't question him about his behaviour.

"You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny," Krum says.

I get the distinct impression that, while she does have a water beetle in her hair, he's only really pointing this out to draw Hermione's attention back to himself. Perhaps to remind her that he had just rescued her from the lake. If this is true, his tactic doesn't work; Hermione's attention is still fully on Harry.

She brushes the water beetle out of her soaked hair impatiently, before saying, "You're well outside the time limit, though, Harry... did it take you ages to find us?"

"No... I found you okay..."

I notice the almost embarrassed expression on Harry's face, and look away, over at Dumbledore. He seems to be deep in conversation with the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious looking female. He's making the same screechy noises that the merpeople had made when they started singing; clearly, Dumbledore can speak Mermish. I really do home that the language sounds a lot nicer underwater.

Finally, he straightens up, turns to the other judges, and says, "A conference before we give the marks, I think."

As the judges go into a huddle, Ron suddenly appears, sitting down next to Harry.

"Well done, mate," he says, thumping him on the back.

"Thanks," Harry nods.

Madam Pomfrey goes to fetch Fleur and her sister. Fleur has many cuts on her arms and face, and her robes are torn, but she doesn't seem to care, and doesn't allow Madam Pomfrey to clean them.

"Look after Gabrielle," she insists, before turning to Harry. "You saved 'er," she says breathlessly. "Even though she was not your 'ostage."

"Yeah," Harry says simply.

Fleur bends down, kissing Harry twice on each cheek. His face goes bright red.

"And you, too, you 'elped!" Fleur says, turning to me.

"I was a bit busy being unconscious to be of much help, actually," I say, shaking my head, but she pulls me into a bone-crushing hug regardless. Ron looks at Harry and I as though we're the luckiest human beings to ever walk the face of the earth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reaches our final decisions," Ludo Bagman's magically magnifying voice announces beside us, making us jump, and everyone in the stands immediately go quiet. "Merchieftainess Murcus-"

_What a name._

"-has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we hae therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows...

"Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by Grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

Applause sounds from the audience.

"I deserves zero," she says throatily, shaking her head.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour."

Enormous cheers come from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd. If Harry's score doesn't come anywhere close to what Cedric's is, I feel like the 'Potter Stinks!' badges are going to make a comeback tomorrow.

"We therefore award him forty-seven points."

My heart sinks. That'll be hard to beat. Especially since Harry came in last... but then again, Fleur did get twenty-five points, and she didn't even get her hostage! Harry managed to reach me and pull me back into the surface, even if he was the last to do so.

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points."

Karkaroff claps particularly hard, looking very superior. Git.

"Harry Potter used Gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continues. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all the hostages safely, not merely his own."

Ron and Hermione give Harry both half-exasperated, half-commiserating looks.

" _Most_ of the judges," Bagman says, and at this he gives Karkaroff a nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fibre and merits full marks. However... Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points."

My eyes light up at this, hardly able to believe it. Ron, Hermione, and I turn to stare at Harry, then start laughing and applauding hard with the rest of the crowd.

"There you go!" Ron shouts over the noise. "You weren't being thick after all - you were showing moral fibre!"

"Well done, Mr. Moral Fibre!" I exclaim, grinning, and attacking him in another tight hug. "But you still are part git."

"Of course I am," Harry nods.

I let out a laugh, pulling away and grinning impossible wide at him. Fleur is clapping very hard, as well, but Krum doesn't look overly pleased. He attempts to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she's too busy cheering for Harry to listen. I bet he's loving that.

"The third and final task will take place on the twenty-fourth of June," Bagman says, when the applause dies down. "The champions will know what's coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

I breathe a sigh of relief. The second task was over, and I don't have to worry about the third until May... and after the third task, it'll be over. This stupid tournament will finally be over. Hell, Harry might even win.

 

***

 

Over the next few days, Hermione and I get a lot of questions of what happened down at the lake. I reckon quite a few of them were disappointed by our answers; that Dumbledore had put us in a bewitched sleep, assuring us that we'd be quite safe and we will awaken once out of the water.

We also get a lot of teasing due to the face that we're the people Harry and Krum would miss the most. It's like Rita Skeeter's article all over again, just ten times worse. At least then, I could deny it and just call it a silly rumour, but it seems nearly impossible to explain to people that the reason that I'd be the one Harry would miss the most is because we've been best friends for nearly ten years, not because I'm the love of his life.

The only thing that sustains me is hope that Fred won't get mad at me, like he did with the  _Daily Prophet_ article. That he's finally got it through his head that Harry and I are only friends, and that's all we've ever been.

During breakfast, as the owls start to come in to deliver the post, Harry scans the sky as usual, to see if Sirius has replied to him yet. His eyes light up, and I follow his gaze to see the brown owl he had sent his latest owl to Sirius with. The owl drops down next to Harry's goblet of pumpkin juice, and Harry unties the scroll of parchment, and unrolls it. His excited expression fades quickly.

"What is it?" I ask, concerned.

When he doesn't answer, I look over his shoulder at the letter. It must be the shortest letter Sirius has ever sent Harry:  _Send date of next Hogsmeade weekend by return owl._

I suddenly feel quite bad for Harry. He must've been expecting a lot more than just that.

"Weekend after next," I whisper. "That's the date of the next Hogsmeade trip. Here - take my quill and send the owl back right now."

I dig through my bag and find a quill, handing it to Harry before continuing to eat breakfast. He scribbles the date of the next Hogsmeade trip on the back, before reattaching the note to the owl. The owl takes off immediately.

"What does Sirius want to know about the next Hogsmeade weekend for?" Ron asks curiously.

"Dunno," Harry says dully. "C'mon, let's get to class..."

I take a final swig of pumpkin juice, before getting up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. However, I trip over the leg of the stool, and end up falling flat on my face. Everyone in vicinity starts laughing, and when I get up, I laugh along with them, though my face is slightly pink.

I push the stray strands of hair away from my face, and we continue walking out of the Great Hall for History of Magic.

As we turn a corner on the second floor, we bump into Fred and George. Or should I say,  _I_ bump into  _Fred_ \- literally. We knock into each other, and we end up falling to the ground, Fred below me. Looking down at him, I suddenly become very aware of myself, very aware of my weight pressing down on him. However, I try to pretend that I find the whole situation hilarious, rather than awkward and embarrassing.

Laughing along with Harry, Ron, and George, I say cheekily, "Morning, Freddie."

"Hi," he says shortly.

I raise an eyebrow at that, rolling off of him, and onto the floor beside him.

"What's got your wand in a knot?" I ask, sitting up.

"Nothing," he says in an extremely fake-hearty voice, as we both get to out feet. He adds, looking directly into my eyes. "Nothing's wrong - not according to you, anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I say, crossing my arms and frowning at him.

"Oh, no," George mutters. "Here we go again..."

"Oh, shut up," I tell him, rolling my eyes, before turning back to Fred, my frown deepening. "What was that supposed to mean?"

His eyes flicker towards Harry, before resting on me once more. My eyes narrow. Of course! He has to overreact and get angry all over again, doesn't he?

"Really, Fred?" I hiss. " _Really_? You  _still_ haven't gotten it through your head?"

"Well, it's hard to believe anything you say when you always contradict yourself," he snaps.

"Can you lot excuse us for a moment?" I say in a voice of strained calm, turning towards Harry, Ron, Hermione and George. "I'd like to have a word with my dear friend, Fred."

"I don't really think that's necessary-" Harry begins nervously.

"We can stick around, really, it's no probl-" Ron cuts in.

"Who needs to have words these days, anyway? It's like they say, actions speak louder than words, and, you know-"

"It's really not the time, you'll be late for class, and-" Hermione says quickly and earnestly.

"We'll only be a moment," I say, with a tone of finality.

They all murmur things I can't quite make out, but disappear down the corridor all the same. Since there are still a fair few people around, I take his hand and drag him up all the way to the seventh floor, trying to find a more secluded place.

Finally, I find a spot near a cupboard that's quite  secluded, so I turn to face Fred, letting go of his hand, my face set.

"Right," I begin angrily. "Right. Let's get one thing clear here; I do  _not_ contradict myself, and-"

"Yes, you do!" Fred interrupts. "You try and tell me nothing's going on with you and Harry, but then you end up being the person he would miss most!"

"It's because we've been best friends for ages! Not because we're madly in love, or any sort of rubbish like that! Honestly, how long is it going to take for you to process that in your sorry excuse for a mind that we're-"

"Don't give me any of that bullshit!" Fred snaps. "I saw how you two were acting after the task."

"We hugged! That's the only thing we did! We hugged!" I exclaim. "Jesus, Fred, am I not allowed to hug anyone now? This happens all the time! If I show affection towards any guy besides you, you suddenly get all pissy and snap at me! I'm sorry I have other friends, and I'm sorry I show affection towards people  _besides you_!"

"Friends? Friends? After all this, is that still all I am to you?" Fred exclaims, something changing in his expression.

"After all what?" I snap. "You being an ass all the time and now allowing me to have any guy friends besides you? Why does this always get your knickers in a twist, anyway?"

Fred's eyes look searchingly into mine, before he takes my elbows in his hands, leans down and kisses me. My eyes widen at the action, surprised, before fluttering closed. His hands rub my arms slowly, his kiss tentative yet passionate.

I finally manage to snap out of the bliss of it all, and pull away from him. "No."

"What?"

"We can't just - you - there - there's a problem here, and we have to fix it," I insist. "Really fix it, not just snog and pretend it never happened, until it happens again."

"What's the problem, though?" Fred says. I stare at him in disbelief.

"The problem? The problem is that every time I go anywhere near a guy that isn't you, you get your knickers in a twist, and you  _still_ won't tell me why!" I exclaim. "That's the bloody problem."

"Right," Fred says in a rather strained voice. "Right. Right, okay. So, how exactly do we fix that?"

"No idea," I sigh, leaning against the wall, and sliding down against it onto the floor. "Maybe I should just stop bothering with guys altogether."

"Well, I don't want to do that to you," Fred says, but he's laughing.

"Then what do we do?" I ask, running a hand through my hair.

"How's this: for the next hour, we ask each other questions, and we have to answer them honestly. No lies, no awkwardness, no worrying about the others' feelings, just the plain truth. And then after the hour is over, we pretend it never happened, but we won't argue as much after it," Fred suggests, sitting down next to me. "How about it?"

"I don't know" I say, biting my lip nervously.

"Why not?"

"I don't know - I just - classes will start any minute, and-" I stutter, and, at precisely that moment, the bell signalling the beginning of classes rings; though, truth be told, that's not what I'm worried about.

"Who cares about missing class?" Fred says.

"Well, just because you're set for life with your joke shop, doesn't mean I-" I begin, almost defensively.

"One class won't make a difference," he insists. "Besides, you were the one who said we need to fix this problem, and I reckon it'll work."

I chew on my lower lip, still not certain whether this is a good idea. The turht is, I don't care about missing class, I just care if he asks me how I feel about him. Finally, I decide to just take a risk and go with it.

"All right, fine," I say.

"Brilliant," he says, grinning, and getting to his feet. He sticks his hand out to help me up, and I take it, pulling myself to my feet. "We can just go to my dormitory, nobody'll be there. We just need to be careful no one sees us on the way there."

I nod, and follow him through secret passages and corridors, until we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" she asks suspiciously.

"Yes," Fred and I reply in unison.

"Balderdash," he adds, and the Fat Lady swings forward on her hinges, revealing the circular hole into the common room.

"You two better hope I don't report you!" she calls after us, but we all know it's an empty threat.

We walk up the steps to the boys' dormitories, and walk into the one labelled 'Sixth Years'. I sit down on Fred's bed cross-legged, quite glad that I had chosen to wear trousers instead of a skirt. Fred sits across from me.

"You first," I say, nodding towards him.

"All right," he nods, glancing at the clock. "Right now, it's 8:06, meaning we'll stop at exactly 9:06, no matter what. Deal?"

"Deal," I nod, holding out my hand for him to shake.

Grinning that charming smile of his, he holds out his own hand, and we shake hands.

"All right, down to business: what do you want to do, anyway? You know, when you're out of school, I mean."

"Haven't the foggiest," I say bluntly, shrugging.

"You're definitely getting this whole 'plain truth' concept down," Fred notes, laughing. "All right, ask me something."

"How do you know this whole question and answer period is going to work?" I ask him.

"I don't," he replies. "I just think it's a good idea."

"So, it might not work?" I ask, feeling rather annoyed.

"Maybe not, no," Fred says, shaking his head.

"Then why the hell are we doing this?" I ask him, sitting up straight and crossing my arms, a slight frown etched on my face. "I could be in class."

"Because, just like how it might now work, it might actually work," he replies. "You never know until you try, Hazey."

A wide smile crosses my face at that.

"What?" he asks, a confused smile on his face, tilting his head as he looks at me.

"You haven't called me that in a while," I reply. "And for reasons I'll never understand, I've missed you using that stupid nickname."

"So, you do like it when I call you that?" Fred asks, smirking.

"Weirdly enough, yes," I confirm, nodding.

"I knew it would grow on you," he says, laughing. "All right, how good am I at snogging?"

"You're ridiculous," I say, shaking my head and laughing.

"Ridiculously good?" Fred says, grinning.

"No, just ridiculous," I smile. "How am I, then?"

"I don't really remember..." Fred jokes, pretending to be thoughtful.

"Fuck off," I laugh.

"Don't make a mockery of my poor memory!" Fred says in a mock-pompous voice. I just give him a cheeky grin in reply. "What's it like to get your period?"

"It's so bad that every month for a week I spend every waking moment wishing I had a penis," I reply. "What's it like getting hit in the balls?"

"It's so bad that every time it happens I spend every painful moment wishing I had a vagina," Fred says. "What's it like giving birth?"

"Hmm, funny, I can't remember the last time I gave birth..." I say sarcastically. "It might just be because I never have given birth, but who knows...? Why don't you just ask your mum?"

"Because whenever I ask her all I get is her saying things along the lines of ' _It was much too painful to tolerate your silly behaviour, young man!_ '. So, after a while, I just stopped asking."

I let out a laugh. And that's basically how things go for the next forty-five minutes. Only in the last fifteen minutes do we really start talking about the serious issues.

"Why do you always get so jealous?" I ask him, my eyes staring earnestly at him.

"I - I don't know," he admits, sighing, and running his hands through his hair. "sometimes it's perfectly fine - well, no, it's not, but I just don't mind it as much - but then sometimes, something just snaps, and I can't handle seeing you with other guys. It kind of just - hurts, I guess. I know it gets annoying, and I'm sorry for that, but, I dunno, I can't help it, I guess."

"Well, I'm sorry it hurts you," I mumble, looking down at my lap. "I don't meant to."

"I've already guessed that," he says, a slight smirk on his attractive face. "But it's all right. At least it's you who's hurting me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, looking up at him, a small smile on my face.

"Well, the fact that it's you makes it hurt the most, but, out of everyone I know, if I had to choose someone to break my heart, I'd rather it be you."

"And why's that?"

"It just seems like it would mean more, if I was hurt by you," he replies, shrugging.

"Are you asking me to break your heart, Fred Weasley?" I ask teasingly, a small smirk on my face.

"Not at all, Hazel Knight," Fred replies, smirking back at me.

"All right, your turn," I grin, nodding at him.

"Right..." he says thoughtfully. I watch him as he mulls over what to ask me, and note how his brow furrows, and how he bites his lower lip, and how he occasionally runs his hand through his hair. "Have you ever thought of being more than friends with someone?"

"So, basically, do I _like_ someone?" I ask.

"Basically," he confirms, nodding.

I don't speak for a moment, just think about that, brow furrowed. I can't lie; after he opened to me, I have to open up to him. "Well... here's the thing: you have a girl - called, say, Delilah-"

"Why Delilah?"

"I've always liked that name," I reply. "Anyway, so Delilah knows this guy called - uh, Frank - and she just adores Frank. She didn't always, they used to just be best friends. They had so many laughs together, and Delilah absolutely loved the way things were with Frank, and she thought it would always be like that, and she  _loved_ that!

"But she started liking Frank - you know, liking him in a less platonic way - and now she's terrified. It's nice in a way, the way Frank makes her smile and brighten up her day just by being around - she thinks that's wonderful - but she's terrified because they've been best friends for ages, and she likes it that way, but she also wants more than that, but Delilah knows that Frank doesn't feel the same way, or has thought of her as anything more than a sister. But sometimes all Delilah knows is that Frank doesn't feel the same way, or has thought of her as anything more than a sister. But sometimes all Delilah wants to do is grab his shoulders, shake him a little, and scream 'I FANCY YOU! I FANCY YOU SO MUCH IT HURTS! I WANT YOU TO HOLD MY HAND, AND CUDDLE WITH ME, AND KISS ME, AND COMFORT ME WHEN I'M SAD AND HOLD ME AND TELL ME EVERYTHING'S GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT, AND JUST TO CALL YOU MINE, AND FOR YOU TO SEE ME AS SOMETHING MORE!' and then just snog the living daylights out of him, but she can't do that, because, I mean, who does that? You just don't do that.

"So, Delilah's stuck pining after Frank - and I know I'm rambling and I probably sound like I'm off my rocker, but bear with me because there is a point to this - and wishing all the time that he'll make the first move, even though she knows it's a waste of time because he never will, and she can't even move on to another person, because Delilah can't look at anyone else while Frank's around, and she wanted to just let it out, but she can't, because she's terrified to try. And even is Frank does feel the same way, what if they go out and it just ends in disaster?"

By the time I finished my rant, I'm staring earnestly into Fred's eyes, hoping he'll see that I'm Delilah, and he's Frank; maybe this way I won't have to tell him outright. It'll be easier, way easier this way... Fred just stares back at me for what feels like ages, his expression hard to read.

 _Say something,_ I plead silently,  _don't just sit there, say something._

Finally, he says, "Well, it's like I said. You never know until you try. It might end badly, but it might be great. And even if it ends badly, you have memories - and at least you tried."

He takes my hand, and starts rubbing small, slow circles on the back of it with his thumb. I watch his thumb move for a moment, just so I don't have to look at Fred, before looking back into his eyes.

"But what if the memories hurt too much?" I say quietly.

"Pain doesn't last forever," Fred shrugs. "You get over it eventually. Now, I have a question: you know how when the hour is over - which is in six minutes, by the way - we pretend nothing ever happened?" I just nod in reply. "Does that go for no matter what we do, too?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," I shrug. "Why?"

Fred leans closer to me, and kisses me, his free hand grabbing my own free hand. I squeeze it, kissing him back, my eyes fluttering closed. The way he kisses me is tentative, it always is, but it's still apparent that he's done this before. And it makes me wonder how many girls he must've charmed, how many girls have forgotten about everything else in their lives just from his kiss. How many girls  _has_ he kissed, anyway?

But why does it matter? Regardless of how many girls he has kissed, that was in the past, this is the present, and nothing else matters. So, when I kiss him back, it's without any nervousness or fear. Because, just this once, there's no need to be afraid.

"So," Fred breathes, when we pull away, foreheads touching, "are you Delilah?"

"Yes," I answer breathlessly.

"Which means that you have a Frank?" he mumbles.

"Yes," I repeat. "Do you know who Frank is?"

"Haven't the foggiest," Fred replies. "Would you kill me if I said Harry?"

"Yes, I would," I say, grinning. "Do you think Frank would like her back."

"Depends," he shrugs. "But knowing you, I'd say he'd be mental not to."

I don't say anything at that. I can feel my face growing hot, so I look down at my lap, my face less visible this way. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the clock on the wall; it's 9:05. One more minute - just sixty more seconds - and this honestly hour is over.

" _So_ ," Fred prompts, "if you're Delilah, and you have a Frank, and that Frank isn't Harry, then who is Frank?"

"Is it not obvious?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"No," he says bluntly. "Should it be?"

"I suppose so, since basically everyone has had it figured out for ages," I shrug.

"Well, I haven't figured it out, so tell me," he says.

"That's not a question," I tease in a singsong voice.

"You're an asshole, Hazel," Fred says, a tiny grin on his face. "Fine, then: who is Frank?"

"Why don't I give you a hint?"

"No."

"Well, that's no fun," I say, crossing my arms and pouting.

"Hazel, just tell me," Fred insists. "How bad can it be?"

 _You have no idea_ , I think.

But then again, how bad could it be? I mean, he must like me, even a little, otherwise he wouldn't snog me, would he?

"All right," I sigh, "well, truth is, Fred-"

But at precisely that moment, my eyes wander to the clock, and see that it's 9:06.

 _Not today, Fred_ Weasley, I think.

"-honesty hour is over," I finish cheekily, grinning.

Without further ado, I hop up from Fred's bed, and brush off my trousers, even thought there's nothing to brush off. I grab my bag, and swing it over my shoulder.

"What?" Fred says in disbelief, whipping around to look at the clock. " _What_? It can't - no - c'mon, Hazel, you can't end it like that-"

"But alas, I must," I say dramatically. "'Tis the rules, I'm afraid."

"But you were just about to-" he begins.

"I don't make the rules, I just enforce them," I say, shaking my head, and holding up a hand to silence him jokingly.

"C'mon, it's not like you haven't broken the rules before!" he protests.

"But we both agreed on them, so why should I break them now?" I ask, smirking. "We agreed that we'd stop at exactly 9:06, no matter what. That was the deal."

"But-"

"Goodbye, Freddie."

I walk over to the door, opening it, and looking both ways to see if anyone's around. As expected, nobody is, I turn back and wave at him, before walking out the dormitory and down the hall. Halfway through, however, I pause, and walk back to the doorway of the dormitory. Fred is still sitting on the bed, looking upset and frustrated. I suppress a smirk.

"By the way, Fred?" I say, and he looks up at me so quickly I'm surprised he doesn't get whiplash.

"Yeah?" he says hopefully.

"Can we do this another time?" I ask. "It was kind of... fun, in a way."

"Well, obviously," he replies. "You've still got a question to answer, Miss Knight."

"I'll be looking forward to it, Mr. Weasley," I declare, laughing. "See you later, Fred."

"See you, Knight."


	38. Witch Weekly

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: Witch Weekly**

 

I jog down the hallway, hurry down the stairs, and walk across the common room. I push the portrait hole open, and look up and down the corridor, trying to figure out where Harry, Ron, and Hermione will be.

"Professor Snape passed by twice, and I saw Professor Sprout down the corridor. You two are very lucky I kept my mouth shut," the Fat Lady says, making my turn around.

"I'm grateful," I say, grinning.

 _It's morning break..._ I remind myself.  _Usually during morning break, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I talk in the courtyard, if the weather's decent. That'll be a good place to start..._

I hurry through the corridors, down several staircases, looking around for Harry, Ron, and Hermione all the while. When I reach the courtyard, I see that I was right. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stand on the other side of the courtyard.

I jog over to them. Harry notices me, and nudges Ron, who nudges Hermione.

"You missed class," Hermione says abruptly.

"Hello to you, too," I say sarcastically, grinning.

"Why did you miss class?" Hermione asks.

"But you know, though, don't you?" I reply. "I was having a word with Fred. Besides, it's only History of Magic. I never pay attention during the lessons, anyway."

"Well, maybe this year I won't be letting you use my notes," Hermione grumbles. "Then, when you fail you exams, you only have yourself to blame."

I grin at her, because I know that it's an empty threat, and that if I ask for them, she'll let me use her notes.

"Either way, I may not be needing your notes," I say matter-of-factly. "I've developed a new way of getting through History of Magic."

"What, cheating?" she says, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not," I reply, amused. "You know that I wouldn't be able to do that even if I wanted to, what with those Anti-Cheating quills. I just pay attention long enough to know what he's on about, and try to find something in  _A History of Magic_ when we get homework."

"But that's the easy way out! I mean, what if he mentions something once, just a little detail that's not in the book, and it's in the exams?"

"Everything that comes out of Binns' mouth seems to be a word-for-word recount of what's in the book," I shrug.

Hermione opens her mouth to say something, but Harry says, "Never mind History of Magic, that's all in the past now."

"Oh, very clever, Harry," I say, rolling my eyes, but a laugh escapes my lips all the same.

"Anyway, what did you and Fred talk about, then?" he prompts.

"Just stuff," I shrug, but a smile slowly forms on my face as I look across the courtyard unseeingly. "Nothing very important, really."

"Have you lot had enough with the fighting, then?"

"Probably not," I answer honestly. "But I think we'll be good for a while."

I don't answer when they ask what I mean by that.

 

***

 

The weather becomes miraculously drier as we enter March, something I'm quite grateful for, even though the winds are still bitter and harsh. In fact, the winds are so fierce that when the brown owl that contains Sirius' reply takes off the moment Harry unties the letter, clearly afraid of being sent outside again.

Ron, Hermione, and I read the note over Harry's shoulder, to find that it's nearly as short as his last one, and it's also the only one of his letters that cause my eyes to widen and for fear to course through my body.

_Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can._

"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" Ron says incredulously.

"It looks like it, doesn't it?" Hermione mutters in disbelief.

"He's mad! He's completely mad!" I say.

"I can't believe him," Harry mutters, shaking his head, "if he's caught..."

Harry doesn't need to finish his sentence. We all know what would happen to him.

"Made it so far, though, hasn't he?" Ron points out. "And it's not like the place is swarming with dementors any more."

"That's true," I concede. "And nobody knows that he's an animagus except for us and Dumbledore."

Harry doesn't answer, but I can tell, despite his obvious worries, he's excited to see Sirius again. And, quite honestly, I'm excited to see him, too; excited to see that he is all right, even if he obviously is very hungry - why else would he ask us to bring as much food as we can? So, when we go down to double Potions that Friday afternoon, I feel a lot better than I usually do when walking down to these dungeons.

That is, until I see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle in a huddle with Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, all of them looking at something I can't quite make out, sniggering heartily. I don't know what they're looking at, but I can tell it's no good. Pansy's excited face peering at us as we approach doesn't help the uneasiness I'm feeling.

"There they are, there they are!" she giggles, and the Slytherins break apart; why  _exactly_ do they enjoy the misery of others so much, and try so hard to bring it upon them?

Now that they're not in a huddle, I can see what they were all looking at; a copy of  _Witch Weekly_. The moving pictures shows a woman with curly hair, who's smiling toothily and pointing at a sponge cake with her wand. I recognize the woman immediately. Rita Skeeter. My heart drops. Fantastic.

"You might find something to interest you in there, Knight! In fact, you too, Granger!" Parkinson says, throwing the magazine at me.

I catch it, trying not to look too disturbed by this. Judging by the slightly disappointed look on Parkinson's face, she'f quite hoped that the magazine would hit me in the head, or something like that - she does realize that I'm a Chaser, doesn't she?

At that moment, the dungeon door opens, and Snape beckons us all inside, so I have to hurriedly stuff the magazine in my bag. We head for our table at the back, as usual, and once Snape had turned his back to write the ingredients for today's potion, I quickly pull the magazine back out, before rifling through the magazine hastily under the desk.

At last, in the middle of the magazine, I find what I'm looking for: a coloured photograph of Harry's heads a rather short piece called ' _Harry Potter's Secret Heartache_.'

"Oh, for God's sake!" I mutter angrily.

"What is it?" Hermione whispers, and she, Ron, and Harry read the article over my shoulder.

_A boy like no other, perhaps - yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence, writes Rita Skeeter. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, and beforehand long-time best friend, Hazel Knight._

_Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss._

I glance up at the front of the room to check that Snape's back is still turned, before continuing to read the article.

_Miss Hermione Granger, a plain but ambitious Muggle-born girl, is a close friend of both Harry and Hazel. However, Miss Granger seems to have a taste for famous wizards that current Bulgarian bonbon Viktor Krum, Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup - not to mention Durmstrang champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament - alone cannot satisfy._

_Quite recently, Skeeter can reveal, Miss Granger has begun to take Mr. Potter away from Miss Knight and into her own clutches._

_Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays, and insists that he has "never felt this way about any other girl"._

_However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms that have captured these unfortunate boys' interests._

_"She's really ugly," says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student,_

I almost laugh at that. In what world is Pansy Parkinson pretty and vivacious?

_"but she'd be well up to making a Love Potion, she's quite brainy. I think that's how she's doing it."_

Yes, because God forbid someone finding Hermione to be wonderful and beautiful - there must be a Love Potion involved!

_But before we start to feel sympathy for both Harry Potter and Hazel Knight, we must first ask ourselves; is young Miss Knight at innocent as she seems?_

_Skeeter can exclusively provide that the answer is no, for Miss Granger is not the only one toying with the affections of more than one boy._

_"She's messing around with this older guy, Fred Weasley," Parkinson reveals. "Probably got bored with Potter and went off for more excitement. And I'm sure she's getting it - she's with new guys all the time. She tries to tell everyone that she's only friends with all of them, but I don't believe that one bit, and, really, do you blame me? I don't think she would mind if Granger managed to take Potter away from her, she'd still have loads of other guys. In fact, I bet they're both using Love Potions, there's no way either of them would be able to do it without them."_

_Love Potions are, of course, banned from Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to further investigate these claims._

_In the meantime, Harry Potter's well-wishers, must hope that, next time, he will bestow his heart on a worthier candidate._

"I told you!" Ron hisses, as Hermione stares down at the article. "I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She's made you - both of you! - into some sort of - of scarlet woman!"

Hermione stops looking shocked, and snorts with laughter.

"Scarlet woman?" she giggles, shaking with suppressed giggles as she turns around to face him.

"It's what my mum calls them," Ron says, his ears going red.

"If that's the best Rita can do, then she's losing her touch," Hermione insists, still giggling. "What a pile of old rubbish."

And the more I think about it, the less shocking and the more hilarious the whole thing becomes. I start fighting to stifle laughs as I toss the magazine onto the empty chair beside me. It's ridiculous, the whole thing, it was just so  _ridiculous_. The fact that so many people read what Rita Skeeter writes, the fact that so many people hang onto her every word suddenly becomes so unbelievable. The mere fact that so many people read such utter crap is so ridiculous that I start to wonder all of this Rita Skeeter business is just a long-running prank on us all, and that any moment she's going to pop up and announce that she'd just been pulling our leg the entire time.

Grinning, I look around at the Slytherins to see them watching Harry, Hermione and I very closely, looking for some sort of negative reaction. Hermione and I give them a sarcastic smile and wave, before we all unpack the ingredients we'll need for the Wit-Sharpening Potion.

"There's something funny, though," Hermione says ten minutes later, holding her pestle suspended over a bowl of scarab beetles. "How could Rita Skeeter have known...?"

"Known what?" Ron says. "You haven't been mixing up Love Potions, have you?"

"Don't be stupid," Hermione snaps, pounding her beetles again. "No, it's just... how did she know Viktor asked me to stay over the summer?"

Hermione blushes as she says then, and determinedly avoids Ron's gaze.

"What?" he says, dropping his pestle with a loud clunk.

"He asked me right after he'd pulled me out of the lake," Hermione muttered. "After he'd got rid of his shark's head. Madam Pomfrey gave us both blankets and then he sort of pulled me away from the judges so they wouldn't hear, and he said, if I wasn't doing anything over the summer, would I like to-"

"And what did you say?" Ron says, grinding his pestle on the desk a good six inches from his bowl, because he's too distracted looking at Hermione.

"And he did say that he'd never felt that way about anybody else," Hermione goes on, blushing so fiercely that I can practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks, "but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn't there... or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task..."

"And what did you say?" Ron repeats, pounding his pestle down so hard it leaves a dent on the desk.

"Well, I was too busy seeing whether or not Harry and Hazel were okay to-"

"Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger," says an icy voice right behind us, causing all four of us to jump, and for me to nearly fall out of my seat, "I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor."

It seems Snape managed to sneak up on us while we were talking. Even though I was listening very intently to the conversation between Ron and Hermione, I still find it impossible that I hadn't heard his footsteps, even if they are swift and silent.

"Ah... reading magazines under the table, as well?" Snape adds, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly, and my heart drops. "A further ten points from Gryffindor... oh, but of course..." Snape's eyes glitter as they fall upon Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings..."

Laughter from the Slytherins ring through the dungeon, and to my utter fury, Snape begins reading the article out loud like this is fucking story time, instead of a Potions lesson.

As Snape reads through the article, pausing at  _every single fucking sentence_ to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh, a blush creeps on my face, and I look down at my lap, shaking with fury. The whole thing sounds much worse, much less hilarious coming from Snape. Out of the corner of my eye, I can even see Hermione blushing scarlet.

"How very touching," Snape sneers, upon finishing the article, rolling up the magazine, while the Slytherins let out obnoxious shouts of laughter.

"Well, I think I ought to separate the dream team, so you can keep your mind on your potions, rather than your oh so tangles love lives," Snape says, smirking. "Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Bulstrode. Knight, at that table, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter - that table in front of my desk. Move. Now."

Positively furious, I pack up my stuff haphazardly and move towards the seat in which he had directed me in.

As I pass Snape, I hiss furiously under my breath, "Fuck you," not particularly caring whether he heard me or not.

He did.

"What was that, Knight?" he says, black eyes glittering maliciously.

I turn to face him squarely, trying not to show a trace of fear.

"I said-" I begin, but Hermione stomps on my foot as she passes me, giving me a warning look. Sighing, I quickly change my sentence, "nothing. I didn't say anything, sir."

"That's what I thought," he hisses. "Move along, now."

I turn back around, throwing myself into the seat next to Parkinson, unpacking my stuff clumsily.

"Snape's got a wonderful voice on him, hasn't he?" Parkinson says, smirking at my obvious fury.

"Go fuck yourself, Parkinson," I snap.

"Temper, temper," she says in an infuriating voice. "Watch your mouth, Knight, that could get you in trouble one day."

Deciding there was no winning against Parkinson at the moment, I just ignore her, pounding at my scarab beetles, imagining each one to be the faces of people I'd quite like to crush; Snape, Parkinson, Rita Skeeter, Malfoy... the list seems to go on and on, at the moment.

"So, I've heard you're messing around with quite few guys," Malfoy whispers. "Care to add me to the list?"

I look up from my beetles for a moment to give him a look of utter disgust, before looking away once more.

"Can I take that as a 'yes'?" he smirks.

"You can take that as a 'go to hell'," I correct. "And a 'I would rather "mess around" with a Blast-Ended Skrewt than you'."

That's how the rest of the class goes; having to endure the taunts of the Slytherin's at the table, trying very hard to keep my mouth shut, but occasionally letting something slip.

"You know, I was wondering how that Fred Weasley would react if he saw the article," Parkinson whispers maliciously.

My hand jerks, and the crushed beetle powder I had meant to put into my cauldron misses by inches. Thought of my fight with Fred flash through my mind, where he angrily insisted that I messed around with every guy I knew.

"He does seem like the jealous type, doesn't he?"

"You can't - you will not show him that stupid article, Parkinson," I hiss.

"I don't really think that's your choice, now is it, Knight?"

The rest of the Potions class I try, and fail, to focus on my Potion, but I can't do it, because I know Parkinson isn't bluffing when she says that she's going to show Fred the article. And I can't try to fool myself into thinking that Fred won't get mad when he sees the article.

When the bell rings, I'm so quick to pack my bags that I spill ingredients all over the floor.

"You will not be leaving this classroom until those are packed up, Knight!" Snape calls.

Close to crying from frustration, I get on my hands and knees and haphazardly clean the mess, but I know Parkinson is already out in the corridors, pursuing Fred, trying to find another copy of the article.

Once the mess is cleaned up, I practically spring out of the classroom, trying desperately to think of what class Fred has just finished, as I run through the corridor.

It finally hits me; Charms. I sprint through the corridors, dash up the stairs two at a time, trying to reach the Charms corridor, hoping wildly to meet him halfway, meet him before Parkinson does.

But I'm a moment too late. By the time I see Fred, he's finished reading the article, and when Parkinson catches my eye, she wears a triumphant smirk. Fucking bitch.

The Fred catches my eye, and my heart sinks. He's angry, he's jealous, and he's hurt.

It's at that moment that I make a decision: I am not going to get into another stupid fight with Fred over a stupid article, because of stupid jealousy.

Face set, I march right up to him, and without so much as a glance at Parkinson, grab Fred's hand and drag him away, into a more secluded corridor.

"Listen to me, Fred Weasley," I say determinedly. "I know you're mad, I know you're jealous, I know you're hurt, I know that article made me seem like an extremely promiscuous girl who goes after older guys for a thrill. But you wouldn't be feeling any of that if you realized that everything Rita Skeeter says is utter bullshit. That article is bullshit, all of it! I'm not dating Harry, I don't mess around with every guy in the school, and I'm not messing around with you. You gotta believe me, all right? Please, please believe me."

"I know," Fred sighs. "I should know by now, shouldn't I? It's just hard sometimes, I don't know. I'm not mad, I'm just - I dunno. Let's just forget this happened. Let's just ignore anything Skeeter says from now on."

"I like the sound of that," I admit, grinning.

"Besides, when she described Parkinson as pretty and vivacious, I should've known it was all bull," Fred adds, and I laugh.

"Exactly! Honestly, Fredrick, what were you thinking?" I say, pretending to admonish him.

"Why don't you stick with Fred," he suggests, grinning.

"I'm good, thanks," I say cheekily.

"Dear God," he says in exasperation, and I let out a laugh.

Talking and laughing, the two of us head down to lunch, me feeling extremely giddy that I'd gotten through to him.


	39. Padfoot's Cave

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: Padfoot's Cave**

 

When Harry, Ron, Hermione and I leave the castle for Hogsmeade the next day, we find a very weak sun shining down at us. Despite this, it's quite warm, and by the time we reach Hogsmeade, we've all taken off out cloaks and thrown over our shoulders. The food Sirius had requested was packed in Harry's bag; we'd managed to smuggle a dozen chicken legs, a loaf of bread, and a flask of pumpkin juice from the Gryffindor table during lunch.

We go into Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby. It's quite a lot of fun to buy the most lurid pairs of socks we can find, including a pair that screams loudly when they become too smelly. Then, at half past one, we make our way up the high street, past Dervish and Banges, and out towards the edge of the village.

I've never been to this part of the village; I take in the scenery as the winding lane leads us out into the wild countryside around Hogsmeade. The cottages are fewer here, and the gardens larger. We're heading out to a mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. When we turn the corner and see a stile at the end of the lane, we see a very large shaggy black dog, it's front paws on the topmost bar, carrying a newspaper in its mouth.

"Hello, Sirius," Harry greets, when we reach him.

Sirius simply sniffs at his bag eagerly, obviously detecting the food. It's very difficult to resist the urge to pet him, and talk to him in that baby-ish sort of voice people use on dogs, just to tease him. He wags his tail once, then turns around and begins to trot away from us across the scrubby patch of ground that rises to meet the rocky foot of the mountain. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I climb over the stile and follow.

Sirius leads us to the very foot of the mountain, where the ground is covered with boulders and rocks. It's easy for Sirius, with his four legs, but the rest of us are soon out of breath, even Ron, with his long legs. We follow Sirius up higher and higher, onto the mountain itself.

For nearly half an hour we climb a deep, winding, and stony path, following Sirius' wagging tail, sweating in the sun, trying - and failing - to ignore the sore feeling in my legs, and wanting nothing more than to sit down.

Then, at last, Sirius slips out of sight, and when we reach the place in which he had vanished, we find a narrow fissure in the rock. Squeezing into it, we find ourselves inside a cool, dimly lit cave. I almost collapse against the cave's rough walls onto the floor, until I notice the thing tethered at the end of the cave, one end of his robe around a large rock. Buckbeak the hippogriff.

Half grey horse, half giant eagle, Buckbeak's fierce, orange eye flashes at the sight of us. We bow low to him, regarding him nervously yet unblinkingly, and after regarding us imperiously for a moment, Buckbeak returns the gesture, and allows Hermione to rush forward and stroke his feathery neck.

Relieved by this, I sink to the floor, supported by the rough wall, running a hand through my hair and looking through the entrance of the cave at Hogsmeade below.

Turning my head, I see that Sirius has transformed back to a human, wearing the same ragged grey robes he had worn when he had escaped from Azkaban; his dark hair is much longer than I remember, and even more ragged and matted, and he looks very thing.

"Chicken!" he says hoarsely, after taking the copies of the  _Daily Prophet_ out of his mouth and throwing it onto the cave floor. Harry pulls open his bag and hands Sirius the bundle of chicken legs and bread.

"Thanks," Sirius says gratefully, grabbing a drumstick, sitting down on the cave floor, and tearing off a large chunk with his teeth. "I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from Hogsmeade; I'd draw attention to myself." He grins up at Harry, and Harry returns the grin, though rather reluctantly.

"What're you doing here, Sirius?" Harry asks.

"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," he replies matter-of-factly, gnawing on the chicken bone in a very dog like way; it's kind of disgusting to watch, but more amusing than anything. "Don't worry about it, I'm pretending to be a lovable stray." He's still grinning, but noting that Harry still looks anxious, he adds, more seriously, "I want to be on the spot. your last letter... well, let's just say things are getting fishier. I've been stealing the paper every time someone throws it out, and by the looks of things, I'm not the only one who's getting worried."

He nods at the yellowing _Daily Prophets_ , and Ron picks one up and unfolds it. I stand up and look over his shoulder. Harry, however, continues to stare at Sirius.

"What if they catch you? What if you're seen?"

"you four and Dumbledore are the only ones that know I'm an Animagus," Sirius shrugs, and continues to devour the chicken leg.

Two headlines catch my attention:  _Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch,_ and  _Ministry Witch Still Missing - Ministry of Magic Now Personally Involved._

 _Well, it's about time the Ministry got personally involved,_ I think to myself, mentally rolling my eyes.  _They certainly took their time; how long has it been since Bertha Jorkins went missing? Eight months?_

Silently cursing Ludo Bagman for his lateness, I scan the article about Crouch. Phrases jump out at me, sticking in my head:  _hasn't been seen in Public since November... house appears deserted... St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries decline comment... Ministry refuses to confirm rumours of critical illness..._

I look up at Ron, and we exchange meaningful glances, him having obviously skimmed over the same article. Ron nudges harry, who looks over the one about Crouch, as well.

"They're making it seem as though he's dying..." Harry says slowly. "But he can't be that ill if he managed to get up here..."

"My brother's Crouch's personal assistant," Ron informs Sirius. "He says Crouch if suffering from overwork."

"Mind you, he did look ill last time I saw him up close..." Harry muses, still reading the article. "The night my name came out of the goblet."

"Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn't he?" Hermione comments, an edge to her voice. She's still stroking Buckbeak, who's crunching up Sirius' chicken bones. "I bet he wishes he hadn't done it now - bet he feels the difference now that she's not there to look after him."

"Hermione's obsessed with house-elves," Ron mutters, casting Hermione a dark look, but Sirius looks interested.

"Crouch sacked his house-elf?"

"Yeah, at the Quidditch World Cup," Harry replies, and launches into the story of what happened the night of the World Cup, starting with seeing Winky in the Top Box. By the time Harry finishes, Sirius is up on his feet, pacing up and down the cave.

"Let me get this straight," Sirius says after a moment of though, brandishing a chicken leg. "You first saw the elf at the Top Box. She was saving Crouch a seat, right?"

"Right," Harry, Ron, Hermione and I confirm in unison.

"But Crouch didn't turn up for the match?" Sirius continues.

"No," Harry shakes his head. "I think he said he'd been too busy."

Sirius continues to pace around the cave in silence for a moment, then says, "Harry, did you check your pockets for your wand after you left the Top Box?"

"Erm..." Harry pauses, before finally saying, "No. I didn't need to use it before we got into the forest. And I put my hand in my pocket, and all that was there were my Omnioculars."

"D'you think whoever conjured the Dark Mark stole Harry's wand in the Top Box?" I ask, staring at Sirius.

"It's possible," Sirius nods.

"Winky didn't steal that wand!" Hermione insists.

"The elf wasn't the only one in that box," he says, his brow furrowing as he continues to pace. "Who else was sitting behind you?"

"Loads of people," Harry replies. "Some Bulgarian ministers... Cornelius Fudge... the Malfoys..."

"The Malfoys!" Ron repeats suddenly, his voice so loud that it echoes off the cave walls and makes Buckbeak toss his head nervously. "I bet it was Lucius Malfoy!"

"Anyone else?" Sirius asks.

"No one," Harry shakes his head.

"Yeah, there was, there was Ludo Bagman," Hermione reminds him.

"Oh, yeah..."

"I don't know anything about Bagman except that he used to be Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps," Sirius says, still pacing. "What's he like?"

"He's okay," Harry replies. "He keeps offering to help me with the Triwizard Tournament."

"Does he now?" says Sirius, now frowning. "I wonder why he'd do that..."

"Says he's taken a liking to me," Harry shrugs.

"Hmmm," is all Sirius says in reply, looking thoughtful.

"We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared," Hermione says to Sirius. "Remember?" she adds to Harry, Ron, and I.

"Yeah, but he didn't stay in the forest, did he?" Ron argues. "The moment we told him about the riot, he went off into the campsite."

"How d'you know?" Hermione shoots back. "How d'you know where he Disapparated to?"

"Come off it," says Ron incredulously. "Are you saying you reckon  _Ludo Bagman_ conjured the Dark Mark?"

"It's more like that he did it than Winky," Hermione replies stubbornly, though it's obvious that she doesn't actually think Ludo Bagman did it.

"Told you," Ron says, shooting Sirius a meaningful look. "Told you she's obsessed with house-"

But Sirius holds up a hand to silence Ron.

"When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf was discovered holding Harry's wand, what did Crouch do?"

"Went to look in the bushes," I reply, "but there wasn't anyone else there."

"Of course," Sirius mutters, "of course he'd want to pin it on anyone but his own elf... and then he sacked her?"

"Yes," Hermione confirms in a heated voice, "he sacked her, just because she hadn't stayed in the tent and let herself get trampled-"

"Hermione, give it a rest with the elf!" Ron says in exasperation.

But Sirius shakes his head and says, "She's got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." He runs his hands through his ragged hair, evidently thinking hard. "All these absences of Barty Crouch's... he goes through the trouble of making sure his elf saves him a seat, but doesn't bother to turn up and watch. He works very hard to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament, and then stops coming to that, too... it's not like Crouch. If he's ever taken a day off because illness before this, I'll eat Buckbeak."

"D'you know Crouch, then?" I ask.

Sirius' face darkens; it reminds me of the night I first met him, when I still believed him to be a murderer. The change in expression makes me regret asking, as though he's going to attack me for my curiosity.

"Oh, I know Crouch, all right," Sirius replied quietly. "He was the one who have the order for me to be sent to Azkaban - without a trial."

"What?" Ron, Hermione and I exclaim.

"You're kidding!" Harry adds.

"No, I'm not," Sirius says, taking another great bite of chicken. I rather think that he shouldn't be eating so much at once, should be trying to save it for as long as possible, but now's not quite the time to share that opinion. "Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you know?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I shake our heads.

"He was tipped for the next Minister of Magic," Sirius says. "He's a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical - and power-hungry." Then, noticing the look on Harry's face, adds, "Oh, not a Voldemort supporter. No, Barty was always very outspoken against the Dark Side. But then a lot of people who were against the Dark Side... well, you wouldn't understand... you're too young."

Oh,  _hell_ no. He did  _not_ just say that. It's not like we're children, we've seen a lot of things already. Dumbledore Moody think that we're plenty old enough to learn about things like this, so why does every other adult seem to think that we're much too delicate to hear about stuff like this?

"That's what my dad said at the World Cup," Ron says, with a trace of irritation. "Try us, won't you?"

And, amazingly enough, a grin - an actual  _grin_ \- flashed across Sirius' thin face. I'd been expecting for Sirius to explain, in a rather patronizing way, that Mr. Weasley is right not to tell us, and that we're too immature to hear about whatever he's keeping from us. But I suppose that isn't much like Sirius.

"All right, I'll try you..." Sirius says. "Imagine Voldemort's powerful right now. You don't know who his supporters are, you don't know who's working with him and who's not; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You're scared for yourself, for your friends, you family. Every week there's new reports of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing... the Ministry of Magic's in disarray, they don't know what to do, they're trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, the Muggles are dying, too. Terror everywhere... panic... confusion... that's how it used to be. Well, times like that bring out the best in some people and the worst in others.

"Crouch's principles might have been good in the beginning - I wouldn't know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort's supporters. The Aurors were given new powers - powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn't the only one who was handed straight to the Dementors without trial. Crouch fought violence with violence, and authorized the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. I would say he became as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark Side.

"He had his supports, mind you - plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister of Magic. When Voldemort disappeared, it looked like it was only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something unfortunate happened..."

At this, a grim smile crosses Sirius' face. Remembering one of Remus' letters to me, remembering him telling me why Neville lived with his grandmother, and I had a funny feeling what that unfortunate thing is.

"Crouch's own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters who'd managed to talk their way out of Azkaban. Apparently they were trying to find Voldemort and return him to power."

"Crouch's son was caught?" gasps Hermione, and I make myself look surprised.

"Yep," Sirius nods, throwing his chicken bone to Buckbeak, flinging himself onto the ground beside the load of bread, and tearing it in half. "Nasty little shock for old Barty, I bet. Should've spent a bit more time with the family, shouldn't he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while... got to know his son a little better."

He begins to wolf down large pieces of bread.

"Was his son a Death Eater, then?" Harry asks.

"No idea," Sirius says, swallowing. "I was in Azkaban myself when they brought him in. This is mostly stuff I've found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company I'd bet my life were Death eaters - but he might've just been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf."

"Did Crouch try and get his son off?" Hermione asks in a whisper.

Sirius lets out that laugh that sounds more like a bark.

"Crouch let his son off? I thought you had the measure of him, Hermione! Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he had dedicated his whole life to become Minister of Magic. You saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Arts again - doesn't that tell you what he's like? Crouch's fatherly affection stretched just enough to get him a trial, and by all accounts, it wasn't much more than a chance for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy... then he sent him straight to Azkaban."

"He gave his own son to the Dementors?" Harry says quietly.

"That's right," Sirius nods, and doesn't look remotely amused now. "I saw the Dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars of my cell door. He can't have been more than nineteen. They took him to a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though... they all went quiet in the end... except for when they shrieked in their sleep."

For a moment, the deadened look in his eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had been closed behind them.

"So he's still in Azkaban?" I ask.

"No," Sirius replies dully. "No, he's not there any more. He died about a year after they brought him in."

"He died?" I repeat, surprised.

"He wasn't the only one," Sirius says bitterly. "Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell death was coming, because the Dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch, being an important Ministry member, and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterwards. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son's body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress; I watched them do it."

Sirius brings a piece of bread to his mouth, then tosses it to the side, draining the flask of pumpkin juice instead.

"So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had made it," he continues, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "One minute, a hero, poised to be the next Minister of Magic... the next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonoured, and, so I've heard since I've escaped, a big drop in popularity.

"Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic towards the son and started asking how such a nice young lad had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Co-Operation."

There's a long silence. I remember how Crouch's bulging eyes when he'd discovered his disobedient house-elf at the scene of the crime, thinking of how desperate Crouch must've been to show everyone that he didn't tolerate Dark magic.

"Moody says Crouch is obsessed with catching Dark wizards," Harry says to Sirius, breaking the heavy silence.

"Yeah, I've heard it's become a bit of a mania with him," Sirius nods. "If you ask me, I think he thinks that he'll be able to bring all the old popularity back by catching one more Death Eater."

"And he sneaked upstairs to search Snape's office!" Ron says triumphantly, looking at Hermione.

"Yes, but that doesn't make any sense," says Sirius.

"Yes, it does!" Ron insists excitedly, but Sirius just shakes his head.

"Listen, if Crouch wants to investigate Snape, why hasn't he been coming to the Tournament? It would be an ideal excuse to make trips to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him."

I try to think of a retort for that, but eventually have to admit to myself that he has a fair point.

"So you think Snape could be up to something, then?" Harry asks, but Hermione breaks in.

"Look, I don't care what you say, Dumbledore trusts Snape-"

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," Ron says impatiently. "I know Dumbledore's brilliant and everything, but that doesn't mean a really clever Dark wizard couldn't have fooled him-"

"Why did Snape save Harry's life in first year, then? Why didn't he just let him die?"

"I dunno, maybe he thought Dumbledore would kick him out or something-"

"What d'you think, Sirius?" I ask loudly, and Ron and Hermione stop bickering, like I'd been hoping they would.

"I think they've both got a point," Sirius replies, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Hermione. "Ever since I found out Snape's teaching here, I've been wondering why Dumbledore hired him. Snape's always been fascinated by the Dark Arts. Slimy, oily, greasy-haired kid he was," Sirius adds as an afterthought, and Harry, Ron, and I exchange appreciative glances. "Snape knew more curses when he arrived at the school than half the kids in seventh year, and he was apart of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters." Sirius holds up a finger and begins ticking off names. "Rosier and Wilkes - they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges - they're a married couple - they're in Azkaban. Avery - from what I've heard he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he'd been acting under the influence of the Imperius Curse - he's still at large. But as far as I know, Snape was never accused of being a Death Eater - not that that means much. Plenty of them were never caught. And Snape's definitely clever and cunning enough to keep himself out of trouble."

"Snape knows Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet," Ron points out.

"Yeah, you should've seen the look on Snape's face when he turned up yesterday!" Harry says quickly. "Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape's been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn't tell what it was."

"He showed Snape something on his arm?" Sirius repeats, looking bewildered. He runs his hands through his matted hair, then shrugs again. "Well, I have no idea what that's about... but if Karkaroff's worried about something, and he's going to Snape for answers..."

Sirius stares at the cave wall opposite him, then makes a grimace of frustration.

"There's still the fact that Dumbledore trusts Snape. I know Dumbledore often trusts people that a lot of other people wouldn't, but I just can't see him letting Snape teach here if he'd ever worked for Voldemort."

"Why are Moody and Crouch so keen to get into Snape's office, then?" Ron asks stubbornly.

"Well," says Sirius slowly. "I wouldn't put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher's office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defence Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I'm not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he's seen, it's not surprising. I'll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters.

"Crouch though... he's a different matter... is he really ill? If he is, why did he make the effort to drag himself up to Snape's office? And if he's not... what's he up to? What was he doing at the World Cup that was so important he didn't turn up in the Top Box? What's he been doing while he should have been judging the Tournament?"

Sirius lapses into silence, still staring at the cave wall. Buckbeak is ferreting around on the rocky floor, looking for bones he might have overlooked. Finally, Sirius looks up at Ron.

"you say your brother's Crouch's personal assistant? Any chance you could ask him if he's seen Crouch lately?"

"I can try," Ron replies doubtfully. "Better not make it sound like I reckon Crouch is up to anything dodgy, though. Percy loves Crouch."

"And you might try and find out whether they've got any leads on Bertha Jorkins while you're at it," Sirius adds, gesturing to the second copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Bagman told me they hadn't," Harry pipes up.

"Yes, he's quoted in the article in there," Sirius says, nodding at the paper. "Blustering on about how bad Bertha's memory is. Well, maybe she's changed since I knew her, but the Bertha I knew wasn't forgetful at all - quite the reverse. She was a bit dime, but she had an excellent memory for gossip. It used to get her into a lot of trouble; she never knew when to keep her mouth shut.

"I can see her being a bit of a liability at the Ministry of Magic... maybe that's why Bagman didn't bother to look for her for so long..."

Sirius heaves an enormous sigh and rubs his shadowed eyes.

"What's the time?"

Harry looks at his watch, but apparently it's not working, because he just looks back up at Sirius and shrugs.

"It's half past three," Hermione answers.

"You'd better get back to school," Sirius says, getting to his feet. "Now listen..." he looks particularly hard at Harry. "I don't want you lot sneaking out of school to see me, all right? Just send notes to me here. I still want to hear about anything odd. But you're not to go leaving Hogwarts without permission; it would be an ideal opportunity for someone to attack you."

"No one's tried to attack me so far, except a dragon and a couple of Grindylows," Harry points out, but Sirius scowled at him.

"I don't care... I'll breathe freely again when this Tournament's over, and that's not until June. And don't forget, if you're talking about me among yourselves, call me Snuffles, okay?"

He hands harry the empty napkin and flask and goes to pat Buckbeak good-bye.

"I'll walk to the edge of the village with you," Sirius informs us, "see if I can scrounge another paper."

He transforms into the great black dog before we left the cave, and we walked back down the mountainside with him, across the boulder-strewn ground, and back to the stile. Here he allows each of us to pat him on the head - me just barely being able to suppress a smirk - before turning and setting off at a run around the outskirts of the village.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I make our way back into Hogsmeade and up toward Hogwarts.

"Wonder if Percy knows all that stuff about Crouch?" Ron wonders aloud as they walked up the drive to the castle. "But maybe he doesn't care... it'd probably just make him admire Crouch even more. Yeah, Percy loves rules. He'd just say Crouch was refusing to break them for his own son."

"Percy would never throw any of his family to the Dementors," Hermione protests severely.

"I don't know," Ron shrugs. "If he thought we were standing in the way of his career... Percy's really ambitious, you know..."

We walk up the stone steps into the entrance hall, where the delicious smells of dinner wafted toward us from the Great Hall, and I suddenly feel very hungry.

"Poor old Snuffles," said Ron, breathing deeply. "He must really like you. Harry... imagine having to live off rats."

How tactful is he?


	40. Ours Forever

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty: Ours Forever**

 

One time Ginny caught me staring at Fred, and, with a smirk, told me that I should just be bold. That I should go up and actually  _flirt_. As if things were that simple. It especially annoyed me because I don't remember a time where Ginny was even remotely flirtatious with Harry, so it's frustrating to have her, of all people, to tell me to be more flirtatious. I very nearly pointed this out to her, but I bit my tongue and just didn't reply - I think Ginny had sense my annoyance, all the sane, because she had added, laughing, that it must've been a bit rich coming from her, and that made me feel quite a bit better.

I'm quite surprised, however, by the fact that flirting seems insanely easy if someone else starts it. Like, if Fred goes off and starts to make cheeky comments and puts his arm around me, then it's quite easy for me to return it. It shocks me how different flirting is from what I expected it to be. I used to think it was just batting your eyelashes and twirling locks of your hair and giggling at inappropriate times - which is why I found it borderline impossible for me to try it.

Even though I'm starting to believe that Fred's feelings towards me are less than platonic, I can't bring myself to do anything about it, unless he starts it. I don't know how to go about it, and I'd probably end up asking whether he prefers soft or chunky peanut butter.

Sitting by myself in the Gryffindor common room on a Saturday night, writing a letter to Remus, I glance around the room trying to figure out how to finish off the letter, as though expecting to find inspiration from the crackling fire. I sigh, glad that it isn't very noisy; almost everyone has gone to sleep - I was confused about why people were going to bed, until I looked at my watch and realized it was twelve thirty-seven in the morning. I feel very tired myself, but I refuse to go go sleep until I finish the letter and send it off. I've been holding it off much too long.

I tap my quill against the table, resting my chin on my hand, trying to figure out how to write this. ' _Anyway, enough of the potential dangers that lie within Hogwarts, how are you doing? It's the full moon right now. Hope your lycanthropy hasn't killed you or gotten you into any trouble. Yours truly, Hazel._ ' No, probably not... I'll call it 'Plan B'.

I look around the room once more, looking for inspiration, when Fred catches my eye. I give him my best smile, a part of me hoping it looked attractive, the other part too tired to care, before quickly looking back down at the table. Finally, I'm able to think about what to write, and though it's not extremely well thought out, and I probably have a few spelling mistakes, I scribble it down before rolling up the parchment and standing up.

A few moments after I've stood, I hear footsteps walking my way, and I turn to see Fred walking towards me, his normal charming grin on his face. I smile at him again, but I quite hope that whatever he wants won't take long, because I just want to go to sleep.

"'Lo, Fred," I greet lazily when he's close enough.

"Hey," he grins. But how is it even  _possible_ that he doesn't even look  _remotely_ tired?

"D'you need anything, or something?" I ask, rubbing my eyes. "Only I'm really tired..."

"If you're so tired then why are you staying up writing - what are you writing, if you don't mind me asking?" he says. "Oh, let me guess, you're writing me a love letter?"

"Obviously," I agree, laughing. "Want me to read it out loud?"

"Obviously," he says, mimicking my tone.

I nudge him playfully and check to see that nobody's around before dramatically unrolling the parchment and beginning. "Dear Fred Gideon Weasley..." I pause for dramatic effect, before continuing. "I must begin by saying that I'm not totally sure why I'm writing you a love letter when you happen to be right across the common room, but... I am, so here we go. My love burns for you, burns like a thousand white hot suns, and every single day it does nothing but burn hotter and brighter, and every single day I think it's impossible for me to love you more, but my own overwhelming passion shocks me each time. And the fact that I can tell you and your twin apart unlike most people in this world really should give me the right to have your babies, but apparently it doesn't, so maybe that's why I'm writing this. So I get the right to have your babies. It'll be fun telling all those bitches that I got there first, let's not forget.

"Anyway, you're, like, totally hot - almost hotter than my burning passion for you, and that's saying something - so, really, why shouldn't people want to have your babies? But I've written this letter which means that I get to have your babies, so ha. No, but seriously, your ginger hair is totally fabulous - really, it's like the best ginger, the ultimate  _ginge_ \- and your eyes are, like, so gorgeous, like, really, they're like two beautiful little pools of melted chocolate that I want to swim in for all eternity. I'm being totally serious here. And you're really tall, and that's cool, because tall people are cool. So, as you can see, you're, like, perfect, and you should probably donate your hotness to the less fortunate. And our children are going to be totally hot, so I'm excited.

"And, not to mention, you're so cool. Like, you're so funny and smart - in a way - and cool and talented, and it kind of makes up for the times that you're a git and a bit of an idiot, so yeah, you're the coolest person ever. It's just, like, your personality is the sexiest thing ever. It's just so hot. It's like being inside an active volcano - really, it is! One time in February I had to go jump in the Black Lake and cool down because it's  _that_ hot.

"In conclusion, you should totally marry me and father my children. Completely and totally  _unchangeably_ yours, Hazel Knight." I conclude with over-dramatic passion.

I'd managed to keep a straight face that entire time, but right after I finish, I burst out laughing along with him, both of us laughing until I had tears in my eyes.

Wiping them and still giggling, I look up at him, and cheekily say, "Did you like it?"

"Loved it," he says dramatically. "Completely, one hundred percent. It was gold - and yes, you can totally have my babies, Knight." Which, of course, makes me laugh harder.

Once we've both calmed down, I tell him who the letter is actually for, and he nods in understanding.

"I was going to go to the owlery, except for the fact that it's now too late - I mean, it's not worth risking a detention, since I could easily send it tomorrow - and I'm much too tired, anyway."

"Well, those aren't very good excuses," he says, frowning at me. "Really, Knight, I expected better of you."

"Weasley, it's just past one in the morning, and I'm exhausted," I say, crossing my arms. "Those are perfect excuses."

"No, they aren't," he insists. "C'mon, first stop is the kitchen - we're getting you hyped up on sugar and caffeine - then they owlery. And then..."

"And then, what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, knowing that he had stopped for dramatic effect and was not going to continue unless I encouraged him to.

"And then," he repeats, eyes alight with mischief, "we're going on an adventure, Hazel Knight."

 

***

 

Fred takes my hand and practically drags me across the common room and through the portrait hole - we ignore the Fat Lady's threats to turn us in, as usual - and once in the kitchens, Fred half stubbornly insists and half begs for me to drink five cups of coffee, and countless sweets - and when I say 'beg', I mean  _beg_. Like, he got on his knees and clasped his hands together while he pleaded and everything. By the time we leave the kitchen, I'm buzzing with energy.

"I'm going to crash pretty soon, you know," I whisper to him, as we walk through the corridors to the owlery. "And I'm going to crash hard. I'm probably going to collapse on the floor any minute now and blow our cover and I'll get detention and you'll probably get, like, expelled for making an innocent student collapse from exhaustion - and not to mention the peer pressure."

Fred snorts as we walk through a secret passageway, "I'd hardly call you innocent, Knight."

"Like you even  _know_ the definition of innocent to begin with, Weasley."

As we walk up the steps to the owlery, I start to wonder whether Midnight'll even be in, or whether he'll be out hunting, but when I call to him in a loud whisper, he flutters down onto my shoulder, his silhouette illuminated by Fred's lit wand.

"To Remus," I whisper to Midnight, attaching the letter to his leg, being extra careful because of the semi-darkness.

He gives a quiet hoot of understanding, before flying out through the window, I lose sight of his dark figure in the night sky very quickly, and I turn to Fred with an eyebrow raised, starting to feel rather excited.

"So," I prompt. "Adventure time?"

"Adventure time," Fred agrees, his eyes and his smile full of mischief once more.

 

***

 

"What're we even doing, Fred?" I ask his quietly, as he leads me through corridors and down stairs, holding onto my hand all the while.

"You'll see," is all he says.

"I bloody hate surprises," I mumble.

"Shut up, you know you love surprises," he replies idly.

"Okay, well I hate knowing a surprise is coming, but having to wait for it to happen," I correct myself.

"There we go," Fred says in approval, and I roll my eyes in reply, even though he's in front of me, and won't be able to see.

"But really, what are we even doing? Where are we going?" I'd whisper for a few minutes later.

He turns to look at me, eyebrow raised. "Patience is a virtue, grasshopper."

"A virtue you don't have, either," I point out.

"Touché," Fred nods, grinning as he looks back in front of him.

Finally, we stop in front of Filch's office. He turns and grins at me.

"Well, we're here," he whispers, flourishing his hands grandly.

"Yes," I agree, nodding, "we are. But why, exactly, are we here?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Fred observes.

"You don't give many answers," I shrug. "So?"

"We're going to wreak some havoc," he replies matter-of-factly. "Give him a nice wake up, make him go insane - you know, the fun stuff."

"Sounds good to be," I grin. "Is that it? Because you could've just told me you wanted to go pranking instead of being all mysterious and shit."

"Of course that's not it," Fred whispers back, as though this should be obvious. "Do you think I'd drag you out here at this time of night when you were so clearly exhausted just to play a little prank?"

"Well, actually-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Okay, well,  _maybe_ I would, but this is most definitely not it," Fred says. "In fact, the party's only just started, my friend."

"Brilliant."

" _Alohomora_!" Fred mumbles, pointing his wand at the door, and it swings open.

Once inside, we rip papers into little pieces, mix up his organized filing system, throw stuff around, trying to keep quiet all the while. Finally, we stand poised halfway up the stairs, and Fred points his wand at the biggest bookshelf in the room.

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!" he whispers, and the bookshelf levitates upward, until it touches the ceiling, and then - Fred put his wand down. Abruptly.

The bookshelf slams into the ground, making such a loud bang that I jump a little, even though I expected it. Wasting no time, we turn and run as fast as humanely possible up the rest of the steps, through the corridors, stifling laughter as we hear Filch's shouts sound.

"Well done, Weasley," I hiss. "Not only have you woken Filch, but probably half the castle along with him. That's what I call success."

"I am good, aren't I?" he grins, and pulls me into a broom cupboard on our right. He presses his ear to the door as I light my wand, even though it's not necessary because Filch's yells are quite loud.

"PEEVES! IT WAS PEEVES! OH, I'LL GET HIM - THIS TIME I'M GOING TO GET HIM!" he shrieks, and I can hear his footsteps growing louder right outside the door, before fading away, his howls still audible.

"Now what do we do?" I ask Fred, grinning. "Because I imagine we won't be able to commence part two until all the chaos dies down."

"On the contrary," he replies, "we can commence part two right now. As a matter of fact, this  _is_ part two."

"This?" I ask, eyebrows raised. "This broom cupboard?"

"Well, not the broom cupboard  _specifically_ , but  _this_ ," he gestures around the room dramatically.

"Care to elaborate on that one, Weasley?" I ask.

"We  _are_ part two," he says simply.

"I beg your pardon?" I say, raising my eyebrows higher.

"We're going to sit here, in this unassuming broom cupboard, and talk," he says matter-of-factly. "I enjoy talking to you, and I don't think we do it enough. And why deny the opportunity to do so when it presents itself so openly? So, I reckon we should just talk. Unless, of course, you want to do something  _else_ in this small broom cupboard. There's plenty of noise going outside, nobody'll hear..." he adds, winking.

"Talking it is," I laugh, hoping I'm not blushing.

I sit down cross-legged right where I am, and Fred sits across from me, and we sit there talking in whispers for what feels like hours, saying anything that comes to mind - well, almost everything - I don't tell Fred that in the dim light, even this broom cupboard seems like a perfect, romantic place to have a nice snog. I often talk about how much I want another cup of coffee, and every time Fred tells me that he'll be glad to get me another cup once it's all died down.

And once it does die down, we stand up, me feeling disappointed that it has died down, wishing I could talk to Fred a while longer. We go down to the kitchens to get me another cup of coffee, as promised, and I drink it happily.

"What's next?" I ask him, after leaving the kitchen the second time that night.

"How d'you know there's something next?" he raises an eyebrow.

"So, we're done now?" I say, trying to hide my disappointment. I was starting to really enjoy this adventure with Fred.

Apparently, I didn't hide my disappointment well enough, because he smirks at me. "Luckily for you, there is a part three."

"Which is?" I say, grinning.

"You'll see," he says simply.

"I hate you,"

"You love me,"

"You wish,"

"You wish I wish,"

And it's like this as he leads me up many steps, and at one point he asks me to close my eyes, which tells me that we're almost there. My eyes flutter closed, and when he reassures that I'm not peeking, he starts walking again, his warm hand on my back, guiding me gently, sending shivers up and down my spine.

"I swear to God, Weasley, if this is some sort of trap-" I begin.

"It's not a trap," Fred assures me.

"Like you'd tell me if it was," I scoff.

"True," he agrees. "But it's really not a trap. I think you'll quite like this."

He leads me upstairs, and I curse fluently under my breath as I walk blindly up them, guided by Fred's hand, until we reach the top. We walk a little further, and when he tells me to open my eyes, they flutter open, and I let out a tiny gasp.

We're in the Astronomy Tower, and the stars are out and the moon is full, and the light from the moon illuminates the Black Lake, and it makes me realize how beautiful Hogwarts really is, and that I ought to appreciate it a bit more.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, stepping forward, looking around in awe.

I can feel Fred's gaze on me as he says, "Yeah, gorgeous."

I turn to him and grin. Then I look back at the full moon, and my smile is replaced by a frown for a moment, but I put it back on just as quickly. Fred still notices.

"What's wrong?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"Nothing," I say, not meeting his gaze.

"Hazel, you really are a terrible liar sometimes," Fred says matter-of-factly.

"I dunno, it's really nothing," I insist. "It's stupid. It's just - you know - full moon. I was wondering about, well, you know, Remus and everything... I don't know, it's stupid, it's not like there's anything I can do about it."

"It's normal to worry, you know," I just shrug in reply. "He'll be fine," he insists. "Lupin is tough. He can deal with it. You know he can."

"I know," I reply, my eyes flickering up to Fred, giving him a tiny smile.

"Has he - er - has he gotten a new job?" Fred asks tentatively, and I shake my head. "It's such bullshit. Snape was such a git, doing that. And Lupin didn't have to  _leave_. I mean, most of us still wanted him. And the ones who didn't - well, they were mostly Slytherins, so does it matter?"

"It does to Remus," I say bitterly.

Clearly Fred notices that I'm starting to get really upset, so he quickly changes the subject. He points to the stars, talking about how pretty they look, and appreciating the change in subject, I start gushing over the stars, too.

We lie down side by side, holding hands, pointing and naming the stars we knew the name of with our free hand, making up random names for the ones we didn't recognize, making up our own constellations.

"And that one," Fred says seriously, pointing to a new constellation off to the right, "is the Fred and Hazel constellation."

"Can you do that?" I ask, turning my head to face him.

"Do what?"

"Name a constellation after yourself," I say. "I mean, a star is one thing, but an entire constellation..."

"I'm not naming a constellation after myself. I'm naming a constellation after the both of us. We're sharing this constellation. It's ours forever," he insists. "Besides, it's not like this naming of stars and constellations is going to go down in history."

"Well, then how can you say that it's ours forever?" I counter.

He thinks about that for a moment. "Because," he finally says, "it's not an official constellation, but it's one we discovered together, and it's one we keep for ourselves. It's a little secret. Ours forever."

A smile spreads slowly across my face.

"Ours forever," I repeat. "I like the sound of that."

"Good, because it would've been awfully awkward if you didn't," Fred says, turning his head away from me, and I chuckle, though disappointed to break eye contact with him. When we decide to go back to the common room, I start to feel tired, and know that the effect from the coffee is starting to wear off. I let out a yawn, and my limbs start to feel heavy.

"I'm going to crash," I tell Fred matter-of-factly. "I can feel it."

"Well, let's hope you can make it to bed before you do," is all he says.

By the time we scramble through the portrait hole, however - once again ignoring the Fat Lady as she rants about how lucky we are she didn't rat us out, and how she knows that it was us who messed up Filch's office - I feel quite certain I won't be able to make it up the stairs and change and everything.

"That was a lot of fun," I tell Fred, letting out another yawn, covering my mouth with my hand.

"Yeah," he agrees, smiling. "We should do that more often..."

"Yes, we should," I agree, giving him a grin. Then, I stagger over to the couch, and collapse onto it, murmuring, "Goodnight, Freddie."

I fall asleep instantly, a vague, peaceful smile on my face, my last thought being "Ours forever" before falling asleep.


	41. Asleep

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-One: Asleep**

 

_***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*** _

 

Fred stared down at Hazel, amazed at how she'd managed to fall asleep so instantly. He tried not to look at her as she slept, tried not to note how she looked so peaceful and angelic when she slept and how adorable that tiny smile on her face was. Instead, he debated what he should do with her.

It was out of the question to leave her there. Fred wasn't sure why he was so against the idea; it's not like anyone would do any harm. But he didn't like the idea of leaving her alone like this. He knew carrying her up the girls' dormitories was out of the question - it would turn into a slide if he tried, and not only would that hurt, it would wake Hazel. So, that really only left him the option of taking her to his dormitory.

That decision made him a little nervous, because, well, the girl he liked was going to be sleeping in his  _bed_. He knew nothing was going to happen - she was bloody asleep, what  _could_ happen? - but the thought of it was still weird. What was he to do, though? He could sleep down here in her place... but then again, what would happen if she woke up and found herself to be in the boys' dormitories. He imagined what George and Lee would do, and he could picture Hazel getting angry with him. But then again, she could also get angry at him for daring to sleep in the same bed as her. But so long as he didn't touch her... what was the big deal, really?

So, Fred carefully picked her up bridal style, opened the door to the boys' dormitories with great difficulty, and closing it with the same difficulty. He started up the steps slowly, looking down at her every two seconds to make sure she was still asleep and undisturbed - he knew she was a heavy sleeper, but that didn't stop him from being paranoid. And every time, a tiny smile grew on his face at her tiny, peaceful smile.

He opened the door to his dormitory carefully, and kicking it closed as gently as possible, pleased when it only made a very tiny noise. To his relief, the curtains to his four-poster were drawn open, and he placed her gently down on the bed. He drew the curtains around her, and changed quickly, before opening them again and climbing under the covers with her, and closing the curtains to the four-poster all around them, before settling back down.

Now that he was settled into bed, he realized just how tired he was, and was quite glad to close his eyes. Of course, due to Hazel being beside him, he could spread himself out like he normally did when he slept, afraid of touching her and waking her up, angering her because he thought he went too far.

All the same, even if he didn't have the space he normally did, there was something comforting about this. He loved the sleepy silence, the sound of her deep, even breathing. He liked that, with the curtains drawn around them, it felt like they were the only people in the world, even though he knew that there were two people only a few feet away from where they lay.

Very quickly, he felt his eyes grow heavy, and his blinks lasted longer and longer, until finally he drifted off into a peaceful, happy sleep.

 

_***First Person, Hazel's Point of View*** _

 

I wake up for a few minutes, but I don't open my eyes. In fact, I'm only half awake, barely able to take anything in. All I can register is being extremely warm, and wondering since when the common room sofa smelled like dark berries and mint, with a hint of sweets.

I've barely been awake for seven minutes, when I surrender to sleep once more, feeling relaxed and happy for reasons I don't even completely understand - maybe I would if my brain was fully awake.

In my sleep state, I don't register the heat from the body next to mine, nor do I take in the fact that someone's arm is wrapped around me.

 

_***Third Person, but Through Fred's Eyes*** _

 

Fred woke up once during the night - well, at least he thought it was night, though he really didn't care much about the time at the moment. It could be five fifteen in the afternoon, and he'd still have absolutely no desire to leave the bed. The entire world could be on fire, and he still wouldn't want to leave the bed.

He almost forgot that Hazel was next to him, until he took in her wonderfully familiar scent - her body always smelled like peppermint, and her hair had the faintest scent of vanilla. He opened his eyes and realized how close to her he was, how he had his arm around her waist, and quickly let go, moving away from her.

But something in her peaceful expression changed, and she looked troubled. He reached out and touched her tentatively, and she slowly relaxed again. He couldn't help but feel happy and rather satisfied by this.

Fred moved closer to her and buried his head in her shoulder, whispering, "Sleep tight, Knight," before falling asleep once more.

 

***

 

Fred woke up again hours later, but he was still half-asleep then. He looked down and saw Hazel curled up in a ball, snuggled against his chest. A sleepy grin crossed his face at that, and he truly forgot about everything in the world at that moment.

Until, that is, he heard voices from outside the curtains of his four-poster. He perked up at the sound, half rising from bed, his hair tousled, listening carefully.

"No, we're not going to do that to Ginny, she'd kill us in our sleep," George insisted. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but we have to go smaller."

"Who are you and what have you done with George Weasley," Lee joked.

Carefully, Fred moved away from Hazel and poked his head through the curtains. Both George and Lee's backs were to Fred, much to his relief. He drew back into bed, and turned back to Hazel. Keeping his voice low and putting his mouth close to her ear, he shook Hazel gently awake.

"Hazel," he whispered carefully into her ear. "Hazel, wake up. C'mon, Knight, time to get up. Wakey wakey."

She stirred slightly, before becoming still once more. Fred shook her again, licking his lips.

"Come on, Hazel, get up. Time to go," he said slightly louder, but his voice was still low. "Please, love, wake up."

Her brow furrowed for a moment, and she let out a tiny groan. He cringed slightly at the sound, going to check if George or Lee (or both) had heard, but their backs were still to them, and they were still talking. He turned back to Hazel, and shook her one last time.

"C'mon," he whispered, and she finally opened her dark eyes.

For a moment, she just looked blankly up at Fred. Then, it seemed, the situation sunk in.

"Fred-?" she began, but he put a finger to his lips, and she stopped talking.

"I'll explain later, okay?" he whispered, dreading her reaction to the situation. "Just follow me, all right? And be quiet."

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't push the subject. But he knew that she was going to. She had questions, and he knew it.

Fred reached for the wand on his bedside table, and pointed it at the door. It opens just enough for them to slip through. He glanced at Lee and George, still talking, and he wondering if he ever acted so oblivious. He turned back to Hazel, and gestured for her to follow him.

"Be very quiet," he mouthed, and she nods.

There was a slight creak as they both got out of bed, but George and Lee made no sign of noticing, though to Fred, it was the loudest sound in the world.

Fred and Hazel tiptoed through the room, and slid out the door. He looked back into the room as Hazel closed it carefully behind her, and it might've been a trick of the light, but Fred swore that for a moment - just for half a second - George caught his eye and winked at him.

 

_***First Person, Hazel's Point of View*** _

 

We walk through the hall and down the stairs, into the mostly empty common room. Curious as to the time, I check my watch. Six forty-five. Funny. It feels like I slept longer than that. Speaking of which-

"So, are you going to tell me what's going on, or what?" I turn to Fred and ask impatiently.

"Oh, er, yeah, right," he says nervously. "So, you know, after out little adventure last night you sort of - collapsed on the couch."

"I remember," I nod. "Which is why I'm confused as to why I ended up in  _your_ bed?"

"Because I, erm, I didn't just want to leave you there, and I couldn't bring you to your room-"

"Why not?" I interrupt.

"Because," Fred says, looking surprised that I don't know why, "if a boy tries to go up to the girls' dormitories, the stairs turn into a slide."

"Really? Why?" I ask, momentarily distracted. "I go up to the boys' dormitories all the time and nothing happens."

"Well, it's either that they thought that boys were less trustworthy than girls - which is totally unfair, since as you pointed out,  _you_ , a girl, go up to the boys' dormitories all the time - or that they didn't want students to be having sex, but then felt bad so gave them more of a chance to get laid."

I laugh at that, before turning serious again. "Continue."

A trace of a smile crosses his face at that. "Anyway, I dunno, I just kind of went in with you. I mean, I was going to sleep on the couch in your place, but then I was worried that you'd wake up and get all confused because you'd be in the boys' dormitory without knowing how you got there and no one to explain how you got there, or George or Lee would go to wake me and they'd find you instead of me. So, anyway, we slept. At the same time, in the same bed. Like, I suppose you could say we slept together, but we obviously didn't in that way. I swear I didn't try anything at all. And-"

Unable to help it, I start giggling, and the bewildered look he gives me really doesn't help matters.

"What?" he asks, his expression a mixture between confusion, annoyance, and defensiveness.

"It's just - I don't know, you just-" I begin, trying to stifle laughs and gesturing randomly, as though this could get the message across. "I dunno, you just sound so awkward and, I don't know, sort of - cute - I suppose. It's funny."

"You think cute is funny?" Fred asks, eyebrows raised, looking amused and flattered.

"I think  _awkward_ is a bit funny - well, sometimes, anyway," I correct. "Especially on you."

"Why specifically on me?"

"Because," I say, not quite wanting to elaborate, or really knowing how.

"Care to elaborate on that, Knight?"

"I dunno, it's just - funny - when you're kind of awkward, because you're usually so confident and sure of yourself," I explain. "I mean, you're  _always_ confident and sure of yourself."

"I wouldn't-" Fred begins, and pauses for half a second before continuing, "-have said it any better myself."

"Right," I say, slightly amused. "But, Fred?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time," I say, "just wake me up. Even if I hit you for it, it'd probably be easier."

"I'll take note of that," he says, nodding.

"Excellent,"

 

***

 

After breakfast, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are just deciding what we should do for the day, when Parvati and Lavender march up towards me, take each of my arms, and whisk me away without a word.

"Oi!" I say loudly, slightly annoyed but putting a smile on my face all the same. "What d'you think you're doing?"

They say nothing.

"Um, excuse me!" I say, louder. "Would any of you like to explain why you're kidnapping me?"

Still nothing.

"Uh, hello?" I say, getting very annoyed now. "Have you two gone deaf, or what?"

They just keep walking, keeping a tight grip on my arms. I look back at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking at them pleadingly, but they just stare back at me with a look that quite plainly says, "You're on your own, kid." Fantastic. How great are my friends?

Sighing, I allow Lavender and Parvati to drag me off to - well, wherever they want to drag me off. Finally, they stop at a mostly empty part of the castle.

"So," Parvati says, being the first of the two to speak.

" _So_ ," I echo, in a much more annoyed voice, "are any of you going to tell me why you kidnapped me, or what?"

"We'd just like to know why you feel the need to lie to us so often," Lavender says.

"I beg your pardon?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain I haven't lied to you about anything. Why would I?"

"That's our question," Parvati says earnestly.

"Could you lot stop with your riddles and just-" I begin, but get cut off.

"Does it hurt?" Lavender blurts out. "Because I've heard it hurts and I was wondering-"

"Does  _what_ hurt?" I interrupt, exasperated.

"Losing your virginity!" Lavender says, lowing her voice but looking and sounding exasperated as I am.

My eyes widen slightly.

"Wait," I say, actually holding up a hand to stop them. "Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait - just hold up a minute. You think I had sex recently?"

"Basically," they say in unison.

"Last night, in fact," Parvati adds.

"D'you mind if I ask  _why_?" I say slowly.

"We heard you," Parvati says. "You and Fred Weasley. Talking about it, and you came from his dormitory, and your hair and clothes were all messy and I mean, it's just obvious!"

"Wait a second," I say. "You  _eavesdropped_? On my  _private_ conversation?"

"It's not like you haven't done it to people," Lavender retorts.

"Yes, but-" I begin, but stop, realizing she has a good point. "But that's just - not even the point - just because I do it doesn't mean it's right, and-"

"You're right, it's not the point," Parvati agrees. "So? How was it?"

"Okay, let's make something clear," I say, picking my words carefully, seeing how well they can twist them. "I am a virgin. I did not fuck Fred Weasley, and if you did eavesdrop, you'd know that the entire stupid conversation was about how nothing happened. Okay?"

They give each other looks that clearly show that they don't believe a word I just said. If there's anything that's lost right now, it's my patience, not my virginity.

"Even if I did fuck him - not saying I did, but why does it matter?"

"We're just curious," Parvati shrugs.

" _Especially_ about whether it hurts," Lavender adds, "because that worries me a bit-"

"I wouldn't know, personally," I interrupt, "but if I so happen to lose my virginity before either of you, I'll be sure to fill you in." They still look disbelieving, so I add. "You can ask him if you really want, and maybe then you'll see that nothing happened. But I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Why not?" Parvati asks sharply. "Don't want him to think you spread it around?"

"Well, yes, actually," I nod. "But not in the way you think. Besides, it'd be an awkward question. Like, 'Yes, hello, I was just wondering if you fucked one of your best friends in your dormitory while your room-mates were sleeping?' Like, that'd be awkward."

"You're quite sure nothing happened?" Parvati asks, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, no, I'm not, it might've happened. Not sure," I say sarcastically. "I forgot..."

"All right, fine," Lavender says. "We believe you. For now. We were just wondering, because-"

"Yes, because you want to know if it hurts or not, I know," I cut her off.

"True," Lavender nods. "And we also wanted to know what that meant for you and a certain Harry Potter..."

"Harry?" I ask, confused. "What the hell does he have to do with  _anything_ right now?"

"Well, a reliable source tells us you're together," Parvati says matter-of-factly.

I groan. "Would that reliable source happen to be Rita Skeeter?"

"Maybe," Lavender says, but her tone says 'yes'.

I roll my eyes. "You really need to stop believing everything you read. And everything you hear."

"Whatever," Lavender shrugs. "But we do know for a face you've at least kissed him."

"Harry?" I ask, tilting my head slightly in confusion.

"No, not him," she says impatiently. "Fred."

My eyes widen for half a second, before I just shrug, trying to make myself look amused by her declaration. "And who told you that?"

"You as good as," Parvati cuts in.

"What d'you mean?" I ask, trying not to be nervous.

"Your eyes widened, and for a second there you looked nervous," Parvati explains. "Also that expression you had a moment ago was  _so_ fake. As is the 'I'm-not-worried-at-all-about-this' expression you have on right now. Which leads us to believe that you and Fred have had a good snog at least once."

Note to self: do not underestimate Lavender and Parvati.

"I - well - I might've once or twice," I admit sheepishly. "Maybe. Possibly."

"Ha - we so called it!" Lavender says cheerfully.

"Just - please do me a favour and don't tell anyone, okay?" I ask pleadingly.

"Why would we tell anyone?" Parvati says in fake-innocence.

"It's in your nature to gossip," I shrug, hoping a second later that didn't sound too rude.

Whether it sounded rude or not, they don't seem very fazed.

"Why shouldn't we tell people?" Lavender asks, raising an eyebrow. "It's not like it's some super secret secret, right?"

I don't say anything for a while. She has a point; it's not like my relationship status with Fred - whatever it is - is secret. It's not like it's forbidden love - if it's love at all, anyway. But a part of me desperately doesn't want anyone to know. The fact that just Parvati and Lavender know upsets me, and even still I'm trying to make sure they don't know the whole of what happened between Fred and I.

I realize that I want it to stay as secret as possible because I want our secret kisses and midnight adventures and flirty comments and fake love letters to stay between us, and only us, as though the memories are more valuable when nobody knows about them.

"It's nobody's business what happens between me and Fred," I finally decide to say, and it is true. "And I don't want random people I don't know making it their business."

"And what happens if it just happens to slip out during casual conversation?" Parvati asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Please," I beg. "Please please please don't tell anyone. It doesn't even matter, please?" When they still look unfazed, in order to not only convince but amuse them, I drop to my knees and clasp my hands together over me as though praying. "Please please please  _please_!"

Lavender and Parvati do let out reluctant laughs, much to my relief. They exchange a look, before turning back to me.

"All right, fine," Lavender begins.

"We'll keep our mouths shut," Parvati adds. "For  _now_."

"Thank you, thank you,  _thank you_!" I leap to my feet and attack them each in a hug. "You guys are awesome."

"Yes, we are," Lavender agrees. "Now, just do _us_ a favour."

"Sure, what?"

"If you're gonna lie," she begins, "stop being so bad at it."


	42. Easter Eggs

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Two: Easter Eggs**

 

The next morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are at breakfast when the post arrives. Hermione looks up eagerly, clearly expecting something.

"Percy won't have answered yet," Ron says. "We only sent Hedwig yesterday."

Yesterday, following Sirius' instructions, we sent Percy an owl asking if he'd seen Mr Crouch recently. A part of me doubts we're going to get much of an answer out of him, but it is worth a shot.

"No, it's not that," Hermione says. "I've taken out a subscription to the Daily Prophet. I'm sick of hearing everything from the Slytherins."

"Good thinking," I say appreciatively.

"Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck-" Harry adds, pointing up at a grey owl soaring towards Hermione.

"It hasn't got a newspaper, though," Hermione says, disappointed. "It's-"

But she's cut off by four other owls landing in front of her.

"Just how many subscriptions did you-?" I begin, but I'm cut off by three more owls landing in front of  _me_.

I stare in shock at them, trying to figure out why we're being attacked by a hoard of owls. I also take a moment to be grateful for the fact that I don't have a fear of birds.

There's only one person I know who'd be sending me owls, and that's Remus. But it can't possibly be him, because he usually just returns whatever owl I send him, whether it's a school owl or Midnight. None of the owls in front of me are school owls or Midnight. Besides, I sent him a letter just two days ago, and on the night of the full moon, no less. He'd be too busy recovering to reply. Not to mention, there really shouldn't be any reason for him to send me so many owls.

Hermione and I exchange looks, shrug, and each take a letter nearest us. Only one way to find out what this is all about. Mine is not handwritten, but seems to be composed of pasted letters that have been cut out of the  _Daily Prophet_.

 _YoU aRe cOmPlEtE FiltHy sCuM, And HarRy PotTEr desERves bEtTER Than the LiKes Of You. LeaVe Him aLone, FiLTHy MudBloOd_.

"Oh, you're got to be kidding me!" I say angrily, at the same time as Hermione sputters, "Oh, really!"

"I suppose yours was like mine?" I ask Hermione.

She nods and we read over each other's notes. Hers reads:

_You are A wicked girl. Harry Potter deserves Better. Go back wheRe you cAme from Muggle._

"This is completely ridiculous!" Hermione says furiously.

"I know!" I agree. "And honestly, if you're going to insult me, be  _somewhat_ accurate about what you say. I'm not even Muggle-born!"

"What is it?" Ron says, and I turn to see he and Harry look completely lost.

"Oh, it's just - just look!" Hermione says, tossing him her letter, and I toss Harry mine.

"They're all like it!" Hermione says, as we tear through the rest of them. "'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn'... 'You're the most repugnant thing I've ever had the misfortune of hearing of'..."

"Clearly the haven't seen Blast-Ended Skrewts," I say lightly. "Oh, hey, look at this one: 'I heard about what you're doing to Harry Potter and it is completely disgusting and you utterly repel me, you disgusting little-' Oh, dear. This one's got quite the vocabulary... I'd finish reading it, but there are first years around."

"Ouch!" Hermione exclaims.

She'd opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid that smells strongly of petrol had begun to spill over her hands, which, as a result, begin to erupt in large yellow boils.

"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" Ron says, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.

"Ow!" Hermione says, tears starting in her eyes as she tried to wipe the pus with her napkin, but her hands are now so covered in sores that she looks like she's wearing a pair of really thick, knobbly gloves.

"You should probably go to the hospital wing," I suggest, giving her a sympathetic look. "C'mon, I'll come with you." As we get up, I turn to Harry and Ron and say, "We'll catch up with you guys in Herbology."

As we walk to the hospital wing, I try to console Hermione, insisting that Madam Pomfrey should be able to fix her hands in a heartbeat, that she's dealt with much worse in the blink of an eye - you know, that kind of stuff. Though Hermione nods and mumbles yeah's and probably's. I get the idea that she doesn't believe me. I don't blame her. Hell,  _I_ don't even believe me.

Once at the hospital wing, Hermione explains the situation to Madam Pomfrey, who nods and tells her immediately to sit down on one of the beds.

"You may go," she adds, nodding in my direction.

I nod, give Hermione another sympathetic smile, then hurry down to Herbology.

I arrive three minutes later, mutter a quick apology to Professor Sprout - who takes off three points from Gryffindor - and hurry over to where Harry and Ron had saved me and Hermione a spot. I feel another stab of pity for Hermione.

"Still in the hospital wing?" Ron asks. I nod in reply.

"Don't know how long she'll be," I add.

Hermione doesn't turn up all lesson. Walking down to Care of Magical Creatures, I bite my lower lip nervously. Okay, I knew it was going to take a while for Madam Pomfrey to fix up her hands, but I'd been certain that she would've been done by the end of Herbology...

Once we draw nearer in front of Hagrid's cabin, however, I forget all about Hermione at the sight of the crates at his feet. Surely not another Skrewt hatching? But upon getting close enough, I realize that the creatures aren't Skrewts, but furry black creatures with long snouts. Their paws are weirdly flat, like spades, and they blink up at the class, looking politely puzzled at the attention they're getting from the class.

"They've nifflers," Hagrid explains, when the entire class had gathered around. "Yeh find 'em down mines mostly. They like sparkly stuff... They're yeh go, look."

One of the nifflers had jumped out of their crate and attempted to bite Pansy Parkinson's watch off her wrist. She lets out a shriek, which drowns out the sound of my muffled laugh. I like these things already!

"Useful little detectors," Hagrid continues happily. "Thought we'd have some fun with 'em today. See over there?" He points at a large patch of freshly turned earth. "I've buried some gold coins. I've got a prize fer whoever picks the niffler that digs up the most. Jus' take off all yer valuables, an' choose a niffler, an' get ready ter set 'em loose."

I take off my watch, and put it in my bag. After checking that that's the only valuable I have on, I reach out and grab the niffler nearest me. It puts its long snout by my nose and sniffs enthusiastically, which tickles quite a bit. They really are very cuddly.

"Hang on," Hagrid says, looking down into the crate. "There's an extra niffler... who's missing? Where's Hermione?"

"She had to go up to the hospital wing," Ron says.

"We'll explain later," I add in an undertone, noticing Parkinson listening in close by.

It's easily the most fun any of us have ever had in care of Magical Creatures. The nifflers dive in and out of the patch of earth as if it's water, returning to their temporary owners and spitting gold coins out into their hands. Ron's the most efficient; his lap was soon full with golden coins.

"Can you get these as pets, Hagrid?" he asks excitedly, after his niffler dives into the soil once more.

"Yer mum wouldn't be happy, Ron," Hagrid replies, grinning. "They wreck houses, nifflers. I reckon they've nearly got the lot now," he adds, pacing around the patch of earth as the nifflers continue to dive in and out of the soul. "I on'y buried a hundred coins. Oh, there y'are, Hermione!"

Hermione is walking toward us across the lawn, her hands heavily bandaged and looking thoroughly miserable. Parkinson, much to my annoyance, is watching her beadily.

"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" Hagrid says. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' to steal any, Goyle," he adds, eyes narrowed. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes in a few hours."

Goyle empties his pockets, looking extremely sullen at this news. As I'd predicted, Ron's niffler had been the most successful, and Hagrid rewards him with a big slab of Honeydukes chocolate.

The bell rings across the grounds for lunch, and while the rest of the class starts up the lawn, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I stay behind to help put the nifflers back in their boxes.

"What yeh done ter yer hands, Hermione?" Hagrid asks, looking concerned, and Hermione launches into a recount of the hate mail she and I had received this morning, and the envelope full of bubotuber pus.

"Aaah, don't worry," Hagrid says gently. "I got some o' those letters an' all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou' me mum. 'Yeh're a monster and yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people and if yeh had any decency you'd jump in a lake.'"

"No!" Hermione says, looking shocked.

"Yeah," Hagrid nods, heaving the niffler crates by his cabin wall. "They're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire. An' that goes fer yeh, too, Hazel," Hagrid adds, turning to fix his gaze on me.

"Yes, sir," I say, saluting with a grin. He chuckles.

"You missed a really good lesson," Harry tells Hermione as we walk back to the castle. "They're good, nifflers, aren't they?"

I nod eagerly, but Ron doesn't give any sign of hearing what Harry had said. He's frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him, looking extremely put out about something.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks. "Wrong flavour?"

"I'll have it, if you don't," I offer jokingly.

"No," Ron says shortly, turning to Harry. "Why didn't you tell me about the gold?"

"What gold?" Harry says.

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup," Ron replies. "The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"

I have to search through my memories of that night for a moment to know what Ron's talking about. So, it seems, does Harry.

"Oh..." he says finally. "I dunno... I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?"

We climb up the steps to the Entrance Hall and cross it for the Great Hall.

"Must be nice," Ron says abruptly, after we sit down and start helping ourselves to food. "To have so much money that you don't notice when a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."

"Listen, I had other things on my mind that night!" Harry says impatiently. "We all did, remember?"

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," mutters Ron. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't have given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas."

"Forget it, all right?" Harry says.

Ron spears a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it as though it's the reason for all his problems. "I hate being poor."

Harry, Hermione and I look at each other helplessly. What the hell can we say to that? Luckily, we don't have to say anything.

"It's rubbish," Ron continues angrily. "I don't blame Fred and George for trying to earn some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler."

"Well, now we know what to get you next Christmas," Hermione says cheerfully, and when he still looks gloomy, adds, "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus." Hermione's having a lot of difficulty using a knife and fork her fingers were so stiff and swollen. "I hate that Skeeter woman!" she bursts our savagely. "I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!"

I try to suppress a grin at this, because no matter how many articles she writes, how many wicked tricks she's got up her sleeve, Rita Skeeter is no match for an angry, determined Hermione Granger.

 

***

 

Hate mail continues to arrive for Hermione and I, but we follow Hagrid's advice and year it up into shreds, so we're not tempted to open it. We do receive a fair few Howlers, though, exploding at the Gryffindor table for everyone in the Hall to hear. Now everyone in the school knows about our fake tangled love lives. It's getting more and more annoying having to explain the truth of the situation.

Hermione is determined to find out how Skeeter is getting such private information when she's banned from grounds. She learns from Moody that she can't be using an Invisibility Cloak, or else he would've spotted her. Harry suggested that Skeeter has Hermione bugged, but she shuts this down immediately, stating that no electronics could possibly work in Hogwarts. Too much magic, apparently. It would go haywire.

Percy finally replies at the end of Easter holidays. His letter is enclosed with a package of Easter eggs Mrs Weasley had sent. Harry and Ron's are as big as dragon eggs, and full of toffee. Hermione's is the size of a chicken egg, and mine's even smaller than that. I try hard not to let my feelings show on my face, but I can't stop my face from falling at the sight of it.

"Ron," I say, looking up from my egg. "Does your mum read Witch Weekly?"

"Yeah," Ron says through a mouthful of toffee. "Gets it for the recipes."

Thought so. I suppose mine's the smallest because, according to Rita Skeeter, not only am I playing around with Harry and a bunch of other people, but her son. Understandable. Still upsetting. Three seconds ago, Easter eggs sounded wonderful. Now the sight of it makes me want to throw up. She could've at least not sent one at all. Pretended to have forgotten...

"Don't you want to hear what Percy wrote?" Harry says hastily, and I'm grateful for the change in subject.

Percy's tiny letter is a lot like him: irritable.

_As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending regular owls with instructions. Now, I haven't actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my superior's own handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without having to quash all these ridiculous rumours. Please don't bother me again unless it's something important._

_Happy Easter._

I almost laugh at the "Happy Easter" bit. He's basically saying "Fuck off, don't talk to me. I don't want to talk to you. Please leave me the fuck alone. Have a nice holiday!"

 _At least he had the decency to add in_ some _kindness,_ I think sarcastically.

 

***

 

I look around the common room, and spot Fred and George. I look down at my Easter egg, then shrug. Might as well give it to them. There's no way I'm going to be able to eat it. It's not like Mrs Weasley hates  _them_ \- despite how annoyed she gets. I pick up my egg, walk across the common room to them, and sit down in an empty seat across.

"Happy Easter," I say, sliding it across the table to them.

Fred and George just look from it to me for a moment, before George says, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but bless it."

That stings a little, but I remind myself that he doesn't know. He doesn't know. There's no way he could possibly know that his mother now has a secret burning hatred for me.

Fred takes a piece of the egg, but looks at me suspiciously. I raise an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Why don't you want it?" he asks.

I consider telling him, but I don't think you can just  _tell_ someone that their mother despises you. So I just shrug and say, "Not in the mood for chocolate today, I guess."

"You're always in the mood for chocolate," George cuts in. "And it's  _Easter_. It's the perfect excuse to stuff your face with it."

I just shrug again.

"Very convincing," Fred says sarcastically. "Life changing, really. I can see the headlines now: 'The Shrug that Changed the World.'"

"Shut up," I say, cracking a reluctant smile.

"And there's a stunning retort," George adds in, grinning.

"All right, fine, if you  _must_ know I've, um, been feeling kind of sick lately," I say, starting to shrug, but then abruptly stop, bringing my shoulders back down hastily.

Fred's expression changes immediately. It goes from suspicious to concerned in under half a second. This makes me feel guilty for lying, but whatever, right? I mean, Mrs Weasley will probably get over it soon enough, anyway, and this whole situation need never be brought up again.

"Really? What's wrong?" he asks, leaning across the table to take my hand, rubbing circles on the back of it.

I wish he'd stop. He's making it hard to concentrate.

"It's um - I - uh - not really-" I look up from his hand on mine to hos face, smile nervously, try to continue with what I'm saying. "It's not really - just, like-"

"What is it, Hazel?" Fred says. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"

"No!" I say, too quickly. If he could just let go of my damn hand, I might be able to concentrate. "It's - it's fine. Not that bad. Just kind of..." I trail off, gesturing around aimlessly, hoping that'll suffice as an explanation.

It doesn't, of course.

"Just kind of what?" George asks.

I make a mental note to never tell another lie. Ever.

"I dunno, really. I'm sure everything'll be all right soon enough,"  _Ha_ , that is true. Well, kind of, anyway. "Anyway, I - uh - gotta go do - have a library book. You know. For homework." Half true. I have the homework, but I don't need to get any book.

"Oh, c'mon," George says, rolling his eyes. "You're sick and on holiday. I'm sure the homework can wait."

"I'd think so too, but if I don't catch up now I'll fall behind," I explain, which is actually completely true.

"Okay, well if you insist on overworking yourself, at least let me get it for you," Fred offers. "What's it called?"

"No, no that's fine," I insist earnestly. Too earnest. Trying to seem less serious, I jokingly add. "Despite what you  _obviously_ think, I  _can_ still walk, Weasley."

"Well, yes, I know that, I was just - I mean, really, it's no trouble to go-"

"Exactly," I nod, pulling my hand away from Fred's and standing up. I suddenly take back everything I said about wanting him to let go of my hand. Now I want him to hold it again. "So, it'll be no trouble for me to get it. See you guys later. Enjoy the rest of that for me." I gesture to the egg, hurry across the common room, out the portrait hole, through the corridors in the general direction of the library.

I realize that I didn't bring my bag or anything with me, and mentally slap myself. I wanted to stay in the library for a couple hours on the pretence that I was doing my homework. Even if I didn't end up actually doing it, it'd still be a solid excuse to stay away from everyone for a while, particularly Fred and George, because the library didn't tolerate any noise, and Fred and George were the  _definition_ of noise.

I suppose I could just spend a couple hours perusing random books, getting lost in the library's shelves. No doubt will I be left to my thoughts, so long as I don't bother Madam Pince. Then I can just come back with any book. A potions book. I'm doing horrible at Potions, it'd make more sense. Say it took me a while to find it, that Madam Pince was in too much of a bad mood...

And just as I'm congratulating myself on my backup plan, I hear footsteps behind me, and that familiar voice.

"Hazel? Hazel!" Fred's voice calls, and I close my eyes in exasperation, open them again, and turn to face him.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"Are - are you all right?" he asks tentatively.

"Despite what I just told you?" I grin. "Yeah, 'course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno, you just seem off today," he replies, and when I raise an eyebrow, he quickly says. "I mean, I don't mean it rudely obviously, it's just - oh, fucking hell - you just seem different. Like, you know, upset."

A small smile crosses my face. "Yeah, well, I'm fine, as you can see. Besides, if I wasn't, you'd know, since it'd be in  _Witch Weekly_ , along with God knows what else."

"Wait, since when does  _that_ have anything to do with anything?" Fred asks, confused.

Shit.

"Nothing, it's just - I don't know, nothing, okay?" I say, not meeting his eyes. "I - I have homework to do, see yo-"

I turn to leave, but Fred takes hold of my shoulders and forces me to face him. I lower my eyes, looking at my shoes.

"Hazel," he says quietly, "what does  _Witch Weekly_ have to do with it?"

I'm silent for such a long time I wonder if he thinks I've suddenly gone deaf. Though I refuse to look at him, I can still feel him staring at me, waiting with maddening patience for my answer. Could he not yell or scream, or something? Why the fuck is he just standing there and  _looking_ at me? Finally, I give in.

Sighing, I say, "Your - uh, your mum reads  _Witch Weekly_... for the recipes, so I've heard... and, uh, she saw the article. You know,  _the article_. With like, Harry and Hermione... and me... and you... And she, uh, she sent the egg, and she's made it really small, and it's not actually the chocolate I care about, because I can just get a lifetime supply at Honeydukes, or something but I just - I don't know. I'm pretty sure she hates me now because she thinks I'm messing around with Harry and loads of other people and you -  _her son_ \- and now she hates me, and I might just be overreacting because it's just an Easter egg, right? But I don't think I am and oh, my God, I'm totally rambling right now and I'm so sorry you have to listen to any of this but you asked so, really, it's your fault. And this is just horrible because Mrs Weasley is the closes thing I've ever had to a mother and now she hates me and I can't believe I just said that and I'm just going to shut up now before I say any more stupid things or cry or something dumb like that, because it's probably already awkward and horrible enough, and I'm sorry you have to listen to any of this and if you've zone out I don't blame you, and now you know not to bother asking about me."

"Oh, fucking hell," Fred mumbles, and I finally meet his eyes, figuring I'll have to eventually, and that the damage has already done, anyway. He's looking at me searchingly, shaking his head and mumbling words I can't quite make out.

 _Oh, fuck he hates me, too,_ I think, unable to help it.  _He thinks I'm whiny and stupid and melodramatic and he hates me. I fucked up with two Weasleys. Great._

"Listen to me, Hazel," he says seriously. "I really don't think she hates you." Lie. "Honest, I don't." He's a fucking good liar. "And even if she does, I'm going to convince her not to. I'm going to tell her how amazing you are and that it's all rubbish and that you're basically the most perfect person in the whole of creation. I will, promise. And if she still hates you, I'll pick you up at your house in Privet Drive and we'll run away together and I'll take you somewhere that doesn't have  _Witch Weekly_ and Rita Skeeter and it'll be wonderful and amazing and great, okay?"

I smile, shaking my head. "I - yeah, yeah okay. Sounds good to me."

"Good," he says, pulling me into his arms and resting his head on top of my own. "See? It's all good, no problems here. No need to stress."

"You're such an idiot," I mumble into his chest, stifling laughs.

"I resent that!" he says, laughing.

"That's nice," I reply, pulling away from him. "Now, I have a question for you."

"Fire away," he says easily.

"Why did you come after me?"

"Because I knew you were lying," he shrugs.

"Okay, but how?" I ask.

"You said you had homework to do, but didn't bring your bag or even a quill to write with," Fred explains. "And let's not forget the fact that you practically  _ran_ out of the common room."

"Oi, I was under a lot of pressure," I insist. "I did all right, considering the circumstances."

"No, you really didn't," he teases. "And I'm assuming you're not actually sick?"

"Nope," I shake my head, popping the 'p'.

"Right," he says, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose that  _is_ a relief."

"You  _suppose_ ," I say. "It might not be a good thing, who knows? Maybe my sicknesses will benefit the world. Help cure all Muggle diseases."

"Yeah, there's something! It just might!" Fred agrees jokingly.

I punch him playfully. "Weirdo."

"Ooh, clever, Knight," he grins.

I really can't remember the last time I've been so grateful for Fred Weasley. And even though I know he was joking, a part of me hoped that Mrs Weasley would continue to hate me, because I really wouldn't mind running away with him, in that moment.


	43. Happy Birthday

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Three: Happy Birthday**

 

Way too early in the morning, I wake to feel myself being hit with a pillow - no, make that two pillows. I moan in protest, swatting them away blindly with my hand before pulling the covers closer to me.

When the attackers don't relent, I announce in annoyance, "It's fucking Saturday. You don't wake me up early in the morning on a Saturday."

"You have people waiting on you," one of my attackers say. Parvati. The other's probably Lavender.

"I don't care if Albus fucking Dumbledore is waiting for me," I insist. "Nobody wakes me up on a fucking Saturday unless they fucking  _want_ to get murdered."

"How lovely," the other says. I was right; it's Lavender. "Happy birthday, by the way."

Oh, yeah. It is my birthday, isn't it? For a second I think I should get up. Then I realize that this bed is much too warm and comfortable. Besides, there will be other birthdays, right?

"Thanks," I murmur, before turning my back to them. "Now fuck off, please and thank you."

I hear their footsteps fading, the door opening and closing.

"Happy birthday, in any case," Hermione's voice says. "Fred and George wanted me to do that, but I refused. Consider it an extra present."

"Should've known it'd be Fred and George," I mumble. "Thanks, 'Mione."

Minutes later, the two footsteps return, along with the sound of giggling. Oh, here we go...

But they don't go anywhere near me. I let out a sigh of relief, then settle back into bed. I'm just about to doze off again, when the footsteps come back to my bed. Dear God...

"Now, Hazel," Parvati begins, trying (and failing) to stifle her laughter, "we really didn't want to do this."

"But we have no other choice," Lavender finishes, more composed than Parvati, but still not much better.

"Wait, what? What the fuck are you-" I turn around, opening my eyes, only to have a bucketful of cold water slap me in the face. I stand straight up, drenched in water, the sheets just as wet.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I scream, furious.

I jump out of the bed, and give them the most murderous look I can muster. And right now, I'm quite sure that's pretty damn scary.

"What the hell was this about?" I ask accusingly, glaring at each one of them in turn.

"We were asked to-"

"Oh, go fuck yourselves," I say, rolling my eyes and storming past them.

I burst out of the dormitory, striding quickly in my anger.

I slip and fall right on my back once, making me let out a string of furious curse words. I don't get up for a couple minutes, assessing one: whether I've hurt myself too badly (nope), and two: the situation in general. When I think about it, it is pretty funny, and I even let out a tiny giggle at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. But then I force myself to be angry again, and when I do, I'm fuming all over again. I carefully get to my feet, and make my way to the common room, scanning the room for Fred and George.

A few people look at me and give me weird looks and some try to stifle laughter, but I ignore them. Finally, I spot Fred and George. Actually, I hear them before I see them, since they're the ones who aren't even bothering to stifle their loud laughing - it's cackling, really. My eyes narrow.

I stomp over them, then slap both of them in turn when I reach them.

"What the fuck, guys?" I say angrily.

"What we'd do?" George asks innocently.

"Oh, don't you dare act all innocent," I snap. "You know very fucking well what you did."

"fine, but what were we to do?" Fred says, smirking. "You  _refused_ to get up when we asked  _nicely_."

"You mean when Lavender and Parvati asked nicely," I correct him. "And since when the fuck does bombarding a person with pillows count as  _nice_?"

"Same difference," George shrugs.

"Besides, you're awake now, that's all that matters!" Fred adds cheerfully.

"Come on, you guys, it's my bloody  _birthday_ ," I say tiredly. "Couldn't you have just held it off for a day?"

"Ah, but you see, dear Hazel," George begins.

"The fact that it's your birthday is the entire reason we even did this," Fred finishes.

"Why? Have you made it your life mission to make the rest of my birthdays shitty?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

" _No_ ," George replies, as though this should be obvious. "And quite frankly, I'm offended that you'd even think such a thing."

"Whatever," I say, rolling my eyes. "Then what is it?"

"We wanted to give you your present," Fred replies, as though this should be obvious.

I narrow my eyes. "And that couldn't have fucking waited until I'd gotten more sleep?"

"Absolutely not," George says seriously. "Anyway, here's my present."

He tosses me a clumsily wrapped box, which I sigh at the sight of, but unwrap all the same.

I was expecting stuff from Zonko's. I'm pleasantly surprised. Instead, it's stuff, not from Zonko's, but Honeydukes - and a new watch.

"That one you've got now was getting pitiful, really," George explains conversationally, and I look down at my wrist to see that he's right. There are scratches on the glass, and it's starting to look really worn out. I really should take better care of my things.

"Thanks, Georgie," I smile widely at him. "I love it. Especially the chocolate."

"Thought you would," he laughs.

"I helped him pick it out," Lee adds, bursting into the scene and tossing me a box.

It had bits of wrapping paper on it, as if he'd tried to wrap it, but had given up. Laughing at this, I open the box to find stuff from Zonko's.

"Thanks, Lee, I was running out of Dungbombs!" I say gratefully, and Lee smiles in satisfaction at my happiness.

"Good to see you've left the best for last," Fred grins, handing me a card.

I hide my slight disappointment that that was all he got me, and open the card. Inside, taped to it was a beautiful yet simple charm necklace, except with only one charm. It was a black owl, with sharp eyes and a white patch in the shape of a star. Midnight.

"Holy shit," I whisper. The charm looks exactly like  _him_.

"Yeah," Fred grins at my reaction. "I had to play around with it with magic to get it to look exact, but I managed."

"It's amazing," I whisper, looking up to grin at him. Admittedly, I'm wondering why he'd only given me the one charm, but I don't want to ask and sound ungrateful.

I don't need to ask, however - he seems to be reading my mind. "In case you were wondering, I only gave you the one charm so you could collect more as you went along. Seems better than to just have a bunch of random ones, I dunno..." he trails off nervously.

"I love it," I insist, smiling. "Really, thank you."

He smiles back, looking relieved.

"Help me put it on, will you?" I ask him, handing him the necklace before turning my back to him.

I hear his footsteps draw closer, then feel him right behind me. He takes my hair and puts it on my shoulder, before rather clumsily clasping the necklace on my neck. Surprisingly, he doesn't pull away right away; instead, he brings his lips close to y ear and whispers, "Read the card when you're alone," so quietly that I just barely catch it.

He steps away from me, and I turn around to face him. He winks at me, before saying, "You really should go dry off, you know."

"Fuck off," I grin, but I hurry upstairs to the dormitory all the same.

"They did this just to give you their presents?" Hermione asks in disbelief, looking up form her book to look at me.

"I know, right?" I shake my head, before grabbing a t-shirt and jeans, and hurrying into the bathroom. I take a quick shower, dry off, put on the clothes, and put my hair up in a messy bun.

I throw all my stuff in the trunk at the foot of my bed, making a mental note to read Fred's card later.

"Anyway, here's your gift," Hermione says, handing me a neatly wrapped box that puts George and Lee to shame.

"Thanks, 'Mione," I say, grinning widely at the new gorgeous feather quill. "This looks amazing. I don't think I'll ever be able to use it. I'll just admire it all day long."

"Glad you like it, then," Hermione says, looking amused.

At that moment, Ginny bursts into the room, tossing me my present with a "Happy birthday."

I open it to find a pair of Oxfords.

"These are gorgeous, Gin," I say appreciatively. "Thank you. In fact, I'll wear them right now."

I put them on and start twirling and jumping around clumsily, loving the shoes more by the second.

"Good to see you like them," Ginny says, smirking. "Nice necklace, by the way."

"Oh, thanks," I say happily. "Fred got it for me."

"Did he, now?" Hermione raises an eyebrow.

"Don't you start," I say warningly, but I'm still smiling. "Come on, let's go to breakfast."

I lead the way to the Great Hall, where a few people wish me happy birthday. I don't know how they managed to remember that today's my birthday, but I'm grateful for it all the same.

Once at the Great Hall, I get, surprisingly, a dress from Harry and Ron. I suspect that Ginny planned this for them, since the dress goes extremely well with the Oxfords. I'm not one for dresses, but this one is mostly casual, and I do like it. I might find a time to wear it, who knows?

The day passes in a breeze of talking and laughing and happy birthday's, to the point that when I finally get up to my dormitory, I realize I've forgotten all about the card. I hurry over to my trunk, open it up. I open the card, and the message makes me melt.

_Knight,_

_So, it's your birthday, so I figure now would be a good time to say this. Or maybe it's a horrible time to say this. I dunno, I never really know. I just go with it and see what happens._

_Anyway, I'd like to say that no matter I'd say on any other occasion, I think you're really amazing. You're funny and smart and nice and sweet and real and - I'm probably going to regret saying this - gorgeous._

_And I realize I piss you off about 90% of the time, and it's okay because you piss me off a lot, too, so it balances out. And it's cool that we can get into fights all the time and things still turn out all right. And, I don't know, I'm really glad I met you and I like you a lot and, uh, yeah._

_There's more I want to say but I don't think it should be said in a card, so if you want to know (which I bet you do) just, well, come and ask me and I'll tell you. Forgive me if it takes a long time to get it out, it's a pretty big thing to day._

_Anyway, Happy Birthday, loser._

_Fred._

My heart starts beating rapidly. What does he want to say to me? Does he like me, too? He did say he liked me a lot... but he meant that in a friendship-y way, right? Nervous and excited, I stuff the card into the bottom of my trunk (I don't want anyone else reading it), and head for the door.

"Where are you going?" Hermione asks.

"Just, um, out for a while," I reply vaguely.

She looks from me, to my trunk, and back again, and the smile on her face tells me she understands. How does she do that? I smile back at her briefly, before heading out the door.

I don't see him in the common room, nor do I see anyone who would know where he'd be, so I push out of the portrait hole, looking both ways down the corridor.

"What are you doing out here now?" the Fat Lady asks me, and I turn around and grin at her.

"Just looking for someone," I reply.

"Well, couldn't it wait until morning?" she says sharply. "You're out past curfew."

"Afraid not," I shake my head, before setting off.

"You best hope I don't report you!" she calls after me, her usual empty threat.

It takes me half an hour to find Fred.

"Fred!" I call triumphantly after spotting him, wondering why he'd be alone in this corridor.

Until I see her.

Long blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes. Every single feature, perfect. That girl in Ravenclaw, one of Fred's fangirls. Her flirting was obvious, and though he was not returning it, he did not seem to be particularly upset about what was going on. Why would he be? A gorgeous girl making it obvious she wanted him. How lucky. Never mind the stupid dreaming Gryffindor girl, with average looks and average personality and average everything.

They're staring at me. Oh, my god, they are staring at me. The girl - what was her name again? - was looking at me like she knew just how big of an idiot I am. Can she stop staring at me? And Fred's looking at me pleadingly, willing me to let me explain, but what was there to explain? Oh, my god, can they stop staring at me? They're making it hard to speak.

"Uh, n-never mind," I stutter out weakly, before turning around and hurrying away as quickly as possible, cursing all sorts of people in my mind: Fred, that girl. myself, myself, myself. I am stupid and too much of a dreamer and I got my hopes up for nothing and I am stupid, I am stupid, I am stupid.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I quicken my pace into a run. Whether it's Fred or the girl or  - God forbid - a teacher, I don't want to hear what they have to say. But the footsteps quicken, and I hear them call my name, and I know it's Fred. I feel a sense of dread, and I run even faster.

I am being reckless. I'm running without looking where I'm going, I'm not bothering to keep my footsteps quiet, and it's past curfew. I'm practically asking for Filch to find me, but I hardly care at this point. I just want to get away. I turn into a secret passageway, run down the length of it, burst out on the other side, and run straight into - the girl. Fuck.

She's seeing me while I'm a mess. She knows what effect she's having on me. And no doubt she's going to use that to my advantage. Fuck my fucking life. It's my fucking birthday, for fuck's sake.

"I don't know why you're all worked up," she says in an innocent voice that makes me want to strangle her. "We were just talking."

I close my eyes, take a deep breath. I will not give her any sort of reaction. I turn my back on her and start walking.

"But if you ask me, I still don't know why you ever thought you had a chance," she adds. "I mean, you with hum? The mere thought of it makes me gag."

I stop for a moment, before shaking my head and continuing on calmly.

I make it to the portrait without anyone finding me. I'm about to mutter the password, when Fred catches up to me, and takes my hand tightly, making me unable to escape.

"What is it?" I ask, as though I hadn't just seen him with a girl that was really putting on the charm from him, then promptly ran away, ignoring his calls.

"I want to explain," he mutters.

I want to get angry at him. I want to scream and shout and tell him to go fuck himself. But I refuse to. He didn't owe me anything. We were never in any sort of relationship for me to cheat on him. He doesn't have to explain his actions to me. It's like that girl said, I never really stood a chance.

"It's fine, Fred," I insist. "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"No, it's not, because it's not what you think," he says determinedly. "I know you have all the reason in the world to be mad at me-"

"No, I don't! Fred, I have no reason to be mad at you!" I say impatiently. "It's your life and you can do whatever you want! You can flirt with who you want and date who you want and I have no reason to be mad at you over that!"

"I didn't flirt with her, though, I tried to get her to stop," he insists.

"I know what I saw," I say stubbornly.

"Oh, please, cut it out, you sound like me," Fred says, rolling his eyes. "How do I prove it to you, then?"

"You wanna prove it?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow, and he nods. "What is it that you wanted to tell me? That you mentioned in the card?"

He goes quiet. He stares at me for what feels like years, biting his lip nervously.

Finally, he says, "Just that - uh, well, just that I really really care about you, and I never want to hurt you. Ever. And nobody's worth hurting you or losing you, I mean it. And I'm so, so glad I met you, because you're beautiful. And not just in how you look or act or anything. Just you - Hazel Knight - is beautiful."

And we are so close to kissing, and his words were so lovely I'm smiling but I also feel like crying. And we almost kiss, it is so close, but then McGonagall comes along, sees us. Gives us triple detentions and takes off twenty points from Gryffindor, demands we go to our common rooms, so we do.

The Fat Lady gloats about how she knew we'd get into trouble one day, but I ignore her, because I'm too busy being about to burst with affection for Fred. I tell him goodnight, practically skipping to my dormitory, because Fred is glad he met me and cares about me and he thinks me -  _just_ me - is beautiful.


	44. Suspicious

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Four: Suspicious**

 

When Harry went with the other champions to get information on the third task, I''d expected him to come back looking nervous and anxious - not scared and confused. He looks around the common room, seems to be pleased that not many people are around, then hurries over to where Hermione, Ron, and I are sitting. I close my Potions textbook immediately, sensing that whatever has to say, I won't be able to talk about while writing the wicked Potions essay Snape had assigned.

"What is it, Harry?" I ask, concerned, the moment he sits down across from me and beside Hermione.

He doesn't need any further invitation to launch into a recount of what happened.

"So, after they all explained to us what would happen in the third task-"

"What's the third task going to be?" Hermione interjects.

"They made the Quidditch pitch into this mental sort of maze, and there'll be loads of obstacles and the Cup'll be in the middle," Harry replies impatiently, "but we'll talk about that later. Anyway, so after we're done, Bagman pulled me aside, offered me help again, but Krum wanted to talk to me in private, so I ditched Bagman and went to talk to him near the forest."

"What did he ask about?" I ask curiously.

"He was asking about whether all the rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote was true," Harry replies, rolling his eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," I say in exasperation. "Hermione, didn't you tell him none of it was true?"

"Of course I told him!" Hermione says defensively. "It's not my fault he didn't believe me! You should know what it's like, really."

"Let's not get into that," I roll my eyes. "Go on, Harry."

"Anyway, suddenly we heard all these noises coming from the forest, and then out of nowhere Barty Crouch comes out from behind a tree and-"

"Wait, what?" I ask, shocked.

"Barty Crouch? You're sure it was him?" Hermione says.

"Isn't he ill?" Ron asks.

"And he was talking to a tree, pretending it was Percy," Harry goes on loudly, giving us pointed looks, and we all shut up. "Like he was in a trance... then he suddenly snapped out of it and started yelling at us to get Dumbledore. I tried to get him to go along with me, but he wasn't in any state to move, so eventually I told Krum to stay and watch him, and I went to get Dumbledore. But I didn't know the password - he's changed it since the last time I've been in his office - so I was yelling random things at the Gargoyle when Snape came up, and he held me up. I tried to tell him what was going on, but the stupid bastard wouldn't listen to me.

"But then Dumbledore showed up and I told him what happened and we went over back to the forest. But by the time we got back, nobody was there. We looked around for a while and we found Krum was stunned-"

"What?" Hermione gasps, looking worried. "What happened? Is he okay? Oh, my god, what happened? Is he all right now -  _just because I'm not looking at you doesn't mean I can't see you mocking me, Ronald Weasley!_ " Hermione adds threateningly, turning to glare at Ron.

"Let's just let him tell us what happened, then we'll see if he's all right, okay, Hermione?" I say, glaring at both her and Ron; now's not the time to start bickering.

Harry shoots me a grateful look, before continuing. "Anyway, Dumbledore sent out his Patronus - sort of like messenger, I think - and then woke Krum up. He said Crouch attacked him. And then Hagrid showed up - I guess the message was for him - and Dumbledore told him to get Karkaroff and Moody, but Moody was already there because Snape told him what I'd said. So, Hagrid went and found Karkaroff when he came back and Krum told him what happened he was furious that a Triwizard judge had done such a thing and started going off about how it was treachery and bias and then he spat at Dumbledore' feet."

"The little prat," I murmur angrily.

"Hagrid seemed to have thought the same thing, because he picked Karkaroff up in the air like it was nothing - which it probably was for Hagrid - slammed him against a tree, and yelled at him to apologize. But, Dumbledore, being Dumbledore, told Hagrid to put him down. So, he did - like, he dropped him right there. Dumbledore got really mad at him so he told Hagrid to take me back to the castle, where he started talking about how I shouldn't trust Krum because he's from Durmstrang and hasn't Moody taught me better and all that. He also started having a go at Madame Maxime, and that's about it. By the way, Hermione, you might want to look out, because I think Hagrid wants to have a word with you about Krum, too."

"Oh, great," Hermione mumbles.

We stay up well into the night coming up with theories that might have happened, but come to no conclusion. The next day, we wake up very early and hurry up to the owlery to send a note to Sirius. Hermione also suggests it might be useful to send a letter to Remus to see what he thinks of the matter, so I finish up the letter I've been writing to him, and write a very brief summary with all the very important details of what happened.

We're all staring out onto the misty grounds, pale and puffy-eyed from lack of sleep, still discussing more theories.

"It comes down to this," Hermione insists, rubbing her forehead. "Either Mr. Crouch attacked Viktor, or somebody else attacked both of them when Viktor wasn't looking."

"It must've been Crouch," Ron says immediately. "That's why he was gone when Harry and Dumbledore got there. He'd done a runner."

"I don't think so," Harry shakes his head. "He seemed really weak - I don't think he'd be up to Disapparating or anything."

"You can't Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds, how many times do I have to tell you?" Hermione asks in exasperation.

"Okay, how's this for a theory," Ron says excitedly. "Krum attacked Crouch - no, wait for it - and then Stunned himself!"

"Ron, you just want to see the worst in Krum," I say impatiently.

"No, I don't!" Ron says defensively. "It makes perfect sense!"

"Really? So, d'you think Crouch just disappeared into thin air, or what?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah..." he mumbles. I roll my eyes.

"Just go through it again, Harry," Hermione says. "What did Mr. Crouch actually say?"

"I've told you, he wasn't making much sense," Harry replies. "He said he wanted to warn Dumbledore about something. He definitely mentioned Bertha Jorkins, and he seemed to think she was dead. He kept saying stuff was his fault... he mentioned him son, too."

"Well, that was his fault," Hermione says testily.

"He was out of his mind," Harry continues. "Half the time he seemed to think his wife and son were still alive, and he kept talking to Percy about work and giving him instructions."

"And... remind me what he said about You-Know-Who?" Ron says tentatively.

"I've told you," says Harry dully. "He said he's getting stronger."

There's a long, tense pause at that. Then Ron says in a falsely confident voice. "But he was out of his mind, like you said, so half of it was probably just raving..."

"He was sanest when he was trying to talk about Voldemort," Harry insists, and Ron winces at the sound of his name. "He was having trouble stringing two words together, but that was when he seemed to know where he was and what he wanted to do. He just kept saying that he had to see Dumbledore."

Harry turns away from the window and looks up into the rafters. "If Snape hadn't held me up," he says bitterly, "we might've got there in time. ' _The Headmaster is busy, Potter... what is this rubbish, Potter?_ ' Why couldn't he just have gotten out of the way?"

"Maybe he didn't want you to get there in time!" Ron says suddenly. "Maybe - hang on - how fast d'you reckon he could've gotten down to the forest? D'you reckon he could've beaten you and Dumbledore there?"

"Not unless he can turn into a bat or something," Harry shrugs, after a moment of thought.

"Wouldn't put it past him," Ron mutters.

"We need to see Professor Moody," Hermione says. "We need to see whether he found Mr. Crouch."

"If he had the Marauder's Map on him, it would've been easy," says Harry.

I wince, almost unnoticeable. I don't blame Harry for giving Moody the map, of course; considering the fact that Moody had gotten him out of a tough spot, it would've been hard to not give him the map, but still. Teachers should not have access to that map - with the exception of maybe Remus, and he's not even a teacher any more, and even so, it's only because he helped  _make_ the map.

"Unless Crouch was already outside the grounds," Ron points out, "because it only shows up to the boundaries, doesn't-"

"Shh!" Hermione says suddenly.

Somebody - no, two somebodies - are climbing up the steps to the owlery. After a moment, I can make out their voices. They're arguing.

"-that's blackmail, that is, we could get into a lot of trouble for that-"

"-we've tried being polite; it's time to play dirty, like him. He wouldn't like the Ministry of Magic knowing what he did-"

My eyes widen. It's Fred and George. Worry surged through me. Who are they blackmailing? What are they doing? What happened? Is it someone from the Ministry? Who in the Ministry could they possible have the power to blackmail?

"I'm telling you, if you put that in writing, that's blackmail!" George. God bless him and that shred of common sense that he got and his twin brother didn't.

"Yeah, and you won't be complaining if you get a nice fat pay-off, won't you?" Fred. Typical. If I wasn't so worried, I'd punch him - in fact, I still might punch him.

The door of the Owlery bangs open. I'm right; it's Fred and George. They freeze at the sight of us.

"What're you doing here?" Ron and Fred ask at the same time.

"Sending a letter?" Harry and George reply in unison.

"What, at this time?" Hermione and Fred say.

Fred grins, and gives me the tiniest of winks. I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Fine - we won't ask what you're doing, if you don't ask us," I notice a sealed envelope in his hands. I study it as discreetly as I can, but whether by accident or because he saw me, he shifts his hand so that the name is covered.

"Well, don't let us hold you up," Fred says, making a mock bow and pointing to the door.

Ron doesn't move. "Who're you blackmailing?"

Fred's grin vanishes immediately. He glances at George, before smiling back at Ron. But I saw his expression a moment before; he's worried.

"Don't be stupid, I was only joking," he says easily. Liar.

"Sure didn't sound like it," Ron insists.

Fred and George look at each other, then Fred says abruptly. "I told you, Ron, keep your nose out if you like the shape it is. Can't see why you would, but-"

"It's my business if you've been blackmailing someone," Ron interrupts. "George's right, you could end up in serious trouble for that."

"Told you, we were joking," George says, walking over to Fred, taking the letter to Fred and beginning to attach the letter to the leg of a school owl. "You're starting to sound like our dear older brother, you are. Carry on like this and you'll be made a prefect."

I roll my eyes very obviously at them. Of course they play the prefect card.

"No, I won't!" Ron argues hotly.

George carries the barn owl to the window and it takes off. He turns around and smiles at Ron.

"Then stop telling people what to do. See you later."

With that, they leave the Owlery without a word. Fred smiles at me when he walks by, but I just narrow my eyes suspiciously in return. What are they up to?

"You don't think they know something about all this, do you?" Hermione whispers. "About Crouch and everything?"

"No," I say immediately. "If it was something that serious, they'd tell someone. They'd tell Dumbledore."

Ron, however, looks uncomfortable.

"What is it?" I ask suspiciously. "Do  _you_ know anything?"

"Obviously not," Ron rolls his eyes. "They just threatened to fuck up my nose after I ask them, and you think I know something?"

"Okay, then what's up?"

"It's just... I dunno they would..." he says slowly. "They're... they're obsessed with making money lately. And I mean  _obsessed_. I noticed when I was hanging around with them - when - you know-"

"We weren't talking," Harry finished firmly. "Yeah, but blackmail..."

"It's this joke shop idea they've got," Ron insists. "I thought they were only saying it to annoy Mum, but they really mean it, they want to start one. They've only got a year left at Hogwarts, they keep going on about how it's time to start thinking about their future, and Dad can't help them, and they need gold to get started."

Hermione's starting to look uncomfortable, and I have to admit my suspicion is now streaked with worry.

"Yes, but... they wouldn't do anything against the law to get gold," Hermione insists, and I try very hard to convince myself of that.

"Wouldn't they?" Ron says sceptically. "I dunno... they don't exactly mind breaking the rules, do they?"

"Yes, but this is the law!" I burst out, now extremely scared and strangely angry. "This isn't some silly school rule,  _it's the law_. They'll get a lot more than a double detention and twenty points taken off Gryffindor for  _blackmail_ , Ron!"

"Hazel's right," Hermione says earnestly. "Ron... maybe you'd better tell Percy..."

No way. No fucking way. No matter what Fred and George are doing, the last thing we need to do is turn to Percy.

"Are you mad?" Ron shakes his head. "He'd probably do a Crouch and turn them in."

"Exactly," Harry agrees, and I nod in agreement. "The obvious thing would be for Hazel to ask them."

"What?" I whip around to look at him, confused. "Why me?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Harry says. "You're close enough to them to ask and everything-"

"And they won't threaten to fuck up your nose," Ron adds. "In fact, they probably won't threaten you at all."

"They're probably not going to tell me anything," I insist. "It's not like they tell me  _everything_." I certainly don't tell  _them_ everything, anyway. "Besides, they'll probably think I'm going to go and tell you lot - which I will, mind you."

"Worth a shot," is all Ron says, shrugging.

"So it's settled," Harry says.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. But if I come back with a messed up nose, it's on your conscience."

Ron smiles, then turns back to look at the window. After a while, he says, "Come on, let's get some breakfast."

"Do you think it's too early to see Moody?" Hermione asks, as we turn to leave the owlery.

"Yes," Harry responds immediately. "He'd probably blast us through the door if we woke him up at the crack of dawn; he'll probably think we're trying to attack him. Let's give it 'til break."

So, we walk down to breakfast, all sorts of worries and suspicions running through my mind - or, at least, my mind. Forget the whole school day, how am I even going to make it until break?


	45. None of Your Business

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Five: None of Your Business**

 

History of Magic seems to go by even slower than usual - and  _that's_ saying something. Even Hermione can't bring herself to listen, and I spend the impossibly slow class by dreaming up impossible things that might've gone down between Krum and Crouch, things I can find problems with immediately, and mysterious things left behind in the forest.

However, when we finally visit Moody during break, it's to discover that they've found no sign of Crouch. I do get the idea of becoming an Auror planted in my mind, thanks to Moody, however, along with the realization that I really haven't put much thought in what I want to do after Hogwarts, and I really should. I guess I've just seen my future as my next few years in Hogwarts, and then any time after that to be an unknown region that didn't even seem real. And Ron, Hermione, and I get stern advice to keep an eye out and stick close to Harry, as well.

The very next morning, Sirius sends his owl back at the same time a tawny owl flew in front of Hermione, carrying a copy of  _The Daily Prophet_. She snatches the newspaper, pays the owl, and scans through the pages.

"Ha! She hasn't got wind of Crouch!" Hermione says triumphantly, before leaning in to hear Sirius' input on the mysterious events.

_Harry - what do you think you're playing at, walking off into the forest with Krum? I want you to swear, by return owl, that you are not going to go walking with anyone else at night. There is somebody extremely dangerous at Hogwarts. It is clear to me that they wanted to stop Crouch seeing Dumbledore and you were probably feet away from the dark. You could've been killed._

_Your name didn't get into the Goblet of Fire by accident. If someone's trying to attack you, they're on their last chance. Stunning and Disarming. A few hexed wouldn't go amiss, either. I'm  waiting for your letter to give me your word that you won't stray out-of-bounds again._

_Sirius_

Well, I certainly was not expecting that...

"Who's he, to lecture me about being out-of-bounds?" Harry says angrily, folding up the note and stuffing it inside his robes. "After all the stuff he's done!"

"He's worried about you!" Hermione says sharply. "Just like Moody and Hagrid, so listen to them!"

"No one's tried to attack me all year," Harry argues. "Nobody's done anything to me at all-"

"Except put your name in the Goblet of Fire," Hermione cut him off, "and they must have done that for a reason, Harry. Snuffles is right. Maybe they've been biding their time. Maybe this is the task that they're going to get you."

"Look." Harry says impatiently, "let's say Sirius is right, and someone Stunned Krum to kidnap Crouch. Well, they would've been in the trees near us, wouldn't they? But they waited until I was out of the way before they acted, didn't they? So it doesn't look like I'm their target, does it?"

"They couldn't have made it look like an accident if they murdered you in the forest!" Hermione counters. "But if you die during a task-"

"They didn't care about attacking Krum, did they?" Harry interrupts. "Why didn't they just polish me off? They could've made it look like me and Krum had a duel, or something."

"Harry, I don't understand it, either," Hermione says desperately. "I just know that there are a lot of odd things going on, and I don't like it... Moody's right - Sirius is right -  you've got to get in training for the third task, straight away. And you make sure to write back to Sirius and promise him you're not going to be sneaking off alone again."

Harry mumbles a reluctant, "Fine," but mutters a series of dark things under his breath that would anger Hermione deeply if she could hear him.

After that, I feel like the Hogwarts grounds just really want to taunt Harry, for during the next few days the grounds look as inviting as ever. Yet Harry, Ron, Hermione and I determinedly stay inside and find unused classrooms to practice all sorts of spells. This practising comes with much sacrifice on Ron's, Hermione's, and my parts.

"Can't we kidnap Mrs. Norris?" Ron groans, lying flat on his back in the middle fo the Charms classroom one day during lunch, having just been Stunned and re-awoken by Harry. "Let's stun her for a bit. Or you could ask Dobby, Harry, I bet he'd do anything to help you. I'm not complaining or anything-" he gets gingerly to his feet, rubbing his back- "but I'm aching all over..."

"Well, you keep missing the cushions, don't you!" Hermione says impatiently, quickly rearranging the pile of cushions we were using for the Banishing Spell, which Flitwick had left in the cabinet. "Just try and fall backward!"

"Once you're stunned, you can't aim too well, Hermione!" Ron says angrily. "Why don't you take a turn?"

"Well, I think Harry's got it anyway," Hermione says hastily, and Harry and I determinedly don't meet each other's eyes, because we know we'll start laughing uncontrollably if we do. "And we don't have to do Disarming, because he's been able to do that for ages... I think we ought to start on some hexes this evening."

She looks down the list we'd made in the library.

"I like the look of this one," she says finally. "The Impediment Curse. Should slow down anything that tries to attack you, Harry. We'll start with this one."

At that moment, the bell rings, and we hastily pack the cushions back into Flitwick's cupboard and slip out of the room.

"See you at dinner!" Hermione calls, and she heads for Arithmancy, while Harry, Ron, and I head, reluctantly, up to the North Tower for Divination.

As we start up the staircase towards the silver ladder and the trapdoor, I, for maybe the billionth time, regret my decision to stay in Divination and drop Arithmancy - sure I didn't get half of it and it was all guesswork, but it at least had  _logic_ to it. Besides, I'm doing the same thing in Divination.

"It's going to be boiling in Trelawney's room, she never puts out that fire," Ron says, and I groan.

Ron turns out to be very right indeed. The minute I enter the dimly lit room I'm slapped with a stifling wave of heat. The fumes from the perfumed fire is heavier than ever, and my head swims as I stumble through the cluttered room to our spot at the back of the room. Harry gets lucky, sitting near the window, opening it and smiling contentedly as what must've been a cool breeze danced across his face.

"My dears," Trelawney says, sitting down in her winged armchair and peering at the class with her weirdly enlarged eyes. She, it seems, is immune to the heat; she's probably used to it by now. Or maybe she likes it, for some insane reason, "we have almost finished our work on planetary divination. Today, however, will be an excellent opportunity to examine the effects of Mars, for he is most interestingly placed at this time. If you would all look this way, I will dim the lights..."

She waves her wand and the lights go out. The only light is from the fire now. Trelawney bends down, and lifts a miniature model of the solar system, contained within a glass dome. It's an extremely beautiful thing; each of the moons glimmered in place around the nine planets, and the fiery sun, all of them hanging in thin air beneath the glass. I'd probably appreciate it more if it weren't for Divination.

I watch boredly as Trelawney begins to talk about the positively fascinating angle Mars is making to Neptune. It doesn't take too long for me to zone out, and instead I focus my attention on the model, admiring every aspect of the beautiful thing, until my mind wanders onto other matters.

The Triwizard Tournament. Will Harry win? Forget winning, will he make it out okay? What'll happen in there? What kind of obstacles are in the maze? Why would they defile the Quidditch Pitch in such a way.

Quidditch. Bloody hell, I miss Quidditch. I miss being on a broom and flying and, for once, not feeling clumsy - even feeling  _graceful_. I miss zooming through the air and racing with Fred and George, laughing and screaming with delight, feeling the wind in my hair. I miss the adrenaline before a game and the feeling of triumph whenever I score a goal. I miss the feeling of invincibility whenever we win a game. I even almost miss the miserable feeling of defeat and the nerves before a game. Almost. Speaking of Fred and George...

What  _are_ they up to? Who are they blackmailing? Why would they be blackmailing  _anyone_ , let alone someone from the Ministry? What would make Fred so angry that he would even consider something so serious? I haven't had the chance to talk to them about it. They won't tell me... no way will they tell me. Unless I tell them at least ten of my deep dark, become their permanent slave, and vow to do everything they tell me to do without question. Maybe then will they tell me what's going on.  _Maybe_. I let out a tiny sigh. What am I going to do with those two?

And I start to decide what exactly I'm going to do with them. I'm going to find them, corner them, and I'm not going to leave them alone until they tell me. I don't care what they say, if they're even thinking about doing something illegal, it's very much my business. And it's like Ron said, they can't threaten me. It doesn't work on me.

And just as I start planning out exactly how this conversation will go down, I hear a thump beside me, and snap out of my plotting, jumping a little in my seat. I whip my head around to see what happened, and to my utter terror, I find Harry tolling on the floor, clutching his scar, his face contorted in pain.

"Bloody hell!" Ron and I shout in unison, not even trying to keep our voices down.

We both kneel down at Harry's side, trying to shake him awake, me swearing fluently under my breath whenever I'm not calling out his name.

I can hear the sound of chairs scraping and footsteps closing in around me, can feel what's probably the whole class surrounding me, and, to my utter annoyance, hear Professor Trelawney trying to get people to move out of the way, sounding as though Christmas had just come early. If I wasn't so scared for Harry, I would've slapped her.

"Harry, Harry, come on, wake up!" I say desperately. "You said it wasn't that bad, c'mon, Harry, wake up!"

"Harry!" Ron calls. "Harry!"

Finally, Harry's eyes fly open. I notice just now that his eyes are watering, and don't know whether I want to hug him, burst into tears, yell at everyone to go away so nobody has to see, or all three.

"You - you all right?" Ron asks weakly, looking as terrified as I feel.

"Of course he isn't!" Trelawney cuts in excitedly.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," I hiss under my breath.

"What was it, Potter? What did you see? A premonition? An apparition? What was it?"

"Nothing," Harry says immediately. Lie - for good reason, too. He sits up, shaking horribly. His eyes wander over to the shadows, as though whatever was in his dreams would be lurking there. Knowing Harry's dreams, the idea of it sends shivers up my spine.

"You were clutching your scar!" Trelawney insists. "You were rolling on the floor, clutching your scar! Come now, Potter, I have experience in these matters!"

 _You could've fooled me,_ I think.

Harry looks up at her.

"I need to go to the hospital wing, I think," he says firmly. "Bad headache."

"My dear, you have undoubtedly been stimulated by the clairvoyant vibrations of my room!" she insists earnestly. "If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further than you have-"

"I don't want to see anything except for a headache cure," Harry cuts her off. He stands up, and the class backs away, unnerved.

"See you later," Harry mutters to Ron and I, picks up his bag, and heads as quickly for the trapdoor as he can without looking like he's running.

There's a long, heavy silence after the sound of the trapdoor slamming. Eventually, Trelawney, looking as though she'd been denied a great treat, says, "Well, back to your seats class."

Noise all around us as people walk away, scraping of chairs, scattered discussion about what we'd all just witnessed. Ron and I just look at each other, shrug, shaking our heads, then sit back down in our seats, talking about what might've been in the dream in lowered voices, unable to do anything else but worry.

 

***

 

After Divination, Ron and I head straight for the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey tells us that Potter never came in to see her - but if he's having that bad of a headache, he ought to straight away. We walk to the Great Hall for dinner, disappointed but not really surprised. We meet Hermione at dinner, and, after explaining what happened to Harry, get her just as worried as we are.

"Where could he have gone?" Hermione wonders thoughtfully. "I wonder what the dream was about, too..."

"Oh!" I burst our suddenly, then lower my voices when I see people staring at me. "I bet he went to Dumbledore."

"Maybe," Hermione nods. "Yes, that would make sense..."

I look down at the food on my plate, and despite the fact that not too long ago I was starving, it looks completely unappetizing. All I can do is poke at it for a few minutes and take a few bites, before I officially give up. I set my fork down dramatically, rest my head on my fist, and look around the table boredly.

I notice Fred and George getting up from the table - alone. Maybe to discuss some more illegal actions? Only one way to find out...

"I'll be back later, I'll meet you in the common room," I whisper to Ron and Hermione, nodding at Fred and George. They nod and whisper good lucks.

I run to catch up to Fred and George, then jump beside George, smiling cheekily.

"Hello!" I say, grinning.

"Hi, Hazel," George says. "Look, as much as we'd love to make your day with our presence, we're a little busy, so if we could just-"

"Oh, I would. I really would," I say, trying to sound earnest, "only I discovered something really amazing, and I really must show it to you!"

"What is it?" Fred asks. "Because we really are busy."

"Oh, I, uh, found a new secret passageway," I lie. Horrible lie. They already know every secret passageway in the entire bloody castle.

"Not likely, Hazel," Fred says, raising an eyebrow.

"No, trust me. I did! They map must've missed it."

"Doubt it," George says.

"Yeah, the map never lies," Fred says.

" _Never_ ," George adds firmly.

"I never called the map a liar," I insist. "Just, um, unknowing."

"All right, fine," Fred says impatiently. "Show us the way."

And with that, I lead them through a random maze of corridors and staircases, until I find a familiar looking passageway. We duck into it, and I turn to face them, my expression changing from cheery to dead serious.

"Now," I say in a business-like tone that I learned ages ago will take you everywhere you need to go, "are you going to tell me what sort of illegal things you two are supposed to be doing?"

"Oh, dear God," George says, rolling his eyes. "I should've known."

"Probably," I agree. "Seventeen years of being the pranksters you are, and you can't tell when a mediocre trick is being played on you? Pathetic, really. Anyway, what's happening, exactly?"

"Hazel, don't," Fred says seriously. "It's none of your business."

I flare up immediately.

"If you're breaking the law and blackmailing people, it's very much my business, Fred Weasley!" I hiss.

"Oh, please, Hazel," he says, rolling his eyes. "You sound like our mum. We know what we're doing. We're not stupid, you know."

"You could've fooled me," I snap.

"Look, keep your nose out of this unless-"

"Unless I like the shape that it already is," I finish impatiently. "Yes, I know, you used this threat on Ron a while ago, remember? It's quite pathetic, can't you think of something new? Besides, you really should know that your threats don't work on me. You're not as intimidating as you like you think you are, you know."

Which is partly a lie. I remember the day Fred had beaten up Warrington and, with difficulty, stop myself from shuddering. Fred would not do that. Fred would not do that. Fred would not do that.

"Look, it's not like you tell us everything, so don't you think it'd be a little ridiculous if we just told you everything automatically?" George points out.

" _But this is the law_!" I say, actually stamping my foot in frustration, borderline hysterical. "It's not like I'd go to Azkaban for any of my secrets! This isn't a stupid crush of a mark on a test I'd rather not share,  _this is the fucking law_! You are _blackmailing_ someone - or at least  _planning_ to - and someone from the fucking Ministry, no less! Like, of all people to choose-"

Fred clamps a hand over my mouth.

"My fucking God, Hazel, keep it down," he hisses. "You say you don't want us thrown into Azkaban, but you're yelling about us blackmailing people at the top of your god-damned lungs."

I take his hand off my mouth, and, rolling my eyes, say, "All right, fair enough. I'm sorry. Now are you going to tell me?"

"No," George says simply, then turns to leave, but I run around them and cut them off.

"Not so fast,"

"Hazel, move," Fred says, sighing impatiently.

"No," I say stubbornly, crossing my arms.

"We'll curse you if we have to," George says threateningly. "Don't think we won't."

"Is that so?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," George nods, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Fred frowning slightly, and George's hand going into the pocket of his robes, "that is so."

I study their faces for a moment. Fred looks disapproving, though he's trying, and failing, to hide it. George, on the other hand, is doing a much better job of looking unconcerned, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's bluffing.

"All right, fine," I say, then take out my own wand. "Then don't think  _I_ won't curse  _you_. And, conveniently, I've been learning some really good ones lately."

"Oh, c'mon, Hazel," Fred rolls his eyes. "You know you wouldn't stand a chance."

"Oh, really? And why's that?"

"Well, there is the fact that we have two years more experience than you in this kind of stuff," he replies. "No matter what kind of learning you've been doing lately."

"We'll just see about that, then," is all I say, my voice challenging.

The fact is, I know that he's right. I probably know enough curses to beat one of them, but both of them at the same time? Not a chance. But I also know that they're not going to do anything to me, so regardless of the former fact. I continue to glare at both of them, trying very hard to stare them down.

"Okay, Hazel, c'mon, just - just don't be stupid, okay?" George says, finally giving up. I smirk a little; that's what I thought.

" _I'm_ not the one who's being stupid, apparently," I retort.

"Yes, you are," Fred insists. "You haven't got any proof that we're doing anything."

"What d'you mean I haven't got any proof? I heard you two the other day in the owlery!" I say in exasperation.

"We  _told_ you, we were just joking around," Fred insists.

"Doesn't seem like your sense of humour, to me," I reply.

"Maybe not to you," George says. "Don't think you know everything there is to know about us. Because you really don't,"

"No," I agree, giving them my fiercest glare. "Apparently not."

"Brilliant!" Fred says in a mock-cheerful voice. "Glad to see that we've agreed on something! Time to go!"

"I don't think so," I say, staying determinedly at my spot.

"Come on, Hazel, you know you're not going to get anything out of us," Fred insists.

"We'll see about that," is all I say.

"You've  _got_ to be joking," George mutters, clearly very annoyed.

"'Fraid not," I shrug. "Besides, I've got time."

"Yes, well, _we_ haven't," Fred snaps.

"Then just tell me and it'll all be over," I say cheerfully. They just glare at me in reply.

"Look, even if we were doing something wrong, and we told you, you'd tell Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and Hermione'd probably do us in and get us thrown into Azkaban," Fred points out. "So, you're not helping us, when you think about it. Not really."

"Bullshit," I insist. "None of them would do that - not even Hermione. Besides, who says I'd even tell them?"

"It's obvious," Fred says impatiently.

"If you asked me not to, I wouldn't," I say matter-of-factly, thought I'm not entirely sure of that fact.

"Doubt it," Fred scoffs.

"Doubting me isn't getting you out of here," I shrug. "Just saying."

Fred and George look at each other, then shrug.

"Might as well get comfortable," George says, and they sit down on the floor in front of me. I glare down at them for a while, then sigh, sitting down across from them. But I still don't trust them; I'm ready to leap to my feet if this is some sort of a trick.

"You know, some girls would be having sexual fantasies if they were locked in a room with two attractive guys," Fred points out in an offhand voice. "Just saying."

"You saying you're interested?" I say, twirling my wand in my fingers.

"I'm a seventeen year old," he says. "Asking if I'm interested in sex is like asking if people are interested in breathing."

I laugh, nudging Fred's thigh with my boot.

"You know, I think I could've lived without knowing about your sexual fantasies, Weasley."

"Don't flatter yourself," he says, grinning. "I didn't mean you lot  _specifically_. Just saying, it's really very stupid of you to ask if I'm interested in sex."

After we stop laughing, we go into a silence, and I don't press them, because I figure they have to tell me eventually. It doesn't matter to me how long I have to stay here. After a while, they put their heads together, whispering. This makes me feel very excluded, but I don't say anything on it, twiddling my thumbs and humming to myself.

Quite suddenly, they stop whispering and jump to their feet. Surprised and caught off-guard, I follow suit.

"What?" I say testily.

"We've decided to tell you," Fred says cheerfully.

"Yeah, we talked about it and decided that it's not really fair, since you're just looking out for us," George explains. "Besides, we can trust you, right?"

"Right," I confirm suspiciously. "And that's all you were discussing, was it?"

"Yup," Fred nods.

"Okay," I say slowly. "What is it, then?"

Fred leans in very close to me, his lips by my ear, and I find it very hard to concentrate.

 _This is important,_ I remind myself.  _This is really important. I can't let feelings get in the way. That is a no. That is a very big no._

"Truth is, it's that... well, Knight, we're blackmailing the Ministry so that they'll stop letting Hogwarts students be so nosy," he whispers, his voice husky. "Particularly ones called Hazel Knight."

Furious, I push him away, and glare so fiercely at the pair of them that they stop laughing immediately.

" _Do you think this is a joke_?" I all but scream. "I've been literally going mad with worry - we all have - and you think it's okay to make this into a fucking joke? We're fucking worried about you assholes, and you're treating this like a joke! For fuck's sake, then you have the fall to complain about how everyone who's looking out for you is acting like your mum! Like, have you ever considered that people  _need_ to fucking act like your mum all the god-damned time, otherwise the both of you would end up in Azkaban!" Fred and George exchange looks, now looking extremely guilty. But I don't stop there.

"D'you want me to stop asking and to keep out of it? Because I will! Really, I will! Just don't come crying to me when everything blows up in your faces, because you two are complete fucking  _idiots_ who push things too far and hate when people try to hold them back  _for their own good_ , then go complaining about how it didn't work out."

I take a shuddering breath, counting to ten to regain control of my temper.

"Ah, fucking hell," Fred mumbles, rubbing his face blearily. "We really fucked up, didn't we?"

 _Yes, you did._ I think, but don't say anything.

"Bloody hell, sorry, Hazel," George mumbles, looking embarrassed.

"Whatever," I snap, refusing to look at them.

"Hazel, right now, we really can't tell you anything, all right? Maybe another time," Fred says gently, taking my face in his hand and gently forcing me to look at him.

"Fine," I say. "Just - just be careful, okay? Please, please don't do anything stupid."

"I promise we won't," George says firmly. "Right, Fred?"

"R-right," he says, looking from his twin brother to me, smiling reassuringly.

A part of me doesn't believe him, but I decide to let it drop, because I'm really in no mood to argue any more.


	46. The Third Task

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Six: The Third Task**

 

I return to the common room, recounting what had happened with Fred and George to Ron and Hermione in a quiet tone, so nobody can hear.

"So, basically, I don't think they're going to be telling anyone any time soon," I conclude. I see Lee Jordan across the common room, smile and wave, before leaning forward and lowering my voice slightly. "I'm not even sure Lee knows - and he knows just about everything they do."

"I think he knows," Ron says thoughtfully, "because whenever they talked about getting money when I was hanging around them, he always seemed to know just what they're talking about. I just think he's choosing not to get involved."

"Is he choosing to do so, or did Fred and George make him stay out of it?" Hermione points.

We all know that's the most likely thing, but since we have nothing to say to it, we just stay silent.

"Whether or not that is the case, though," I say after a while. "It surprises me that he's not doing anything about it, if he knows. If they're doing something illegal, you'd think he'd do something about it."

"Well, I mean, he's friends with Fred and George," Hermione points out. "He probably agrees with it. Maybe even planted the idea of blackmail in Fred's mind."

"I'm friends with Fred and George, and I most certainly have not done either of those things," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, Hazel, that's not what I meant-" Hermione begins.

"I know, I know," I cut her off, waving a hand absently as though to wave away her apology. "Anyway, I still don't think it's likely of Lee to do. Trust me, he's much more sensible than the both of them, he'd obviously see whatever they're doing is ridiculous. So, what Fred and George could've possibly said or done to make him stay out of it, I don't know."

"Well, maybe you could give it another go," Ron says.

"I don't know," I say doubtfully. "I could give it a shot, but I don't reckon it'd work out very well, after today."

"Okay, well, we all know I can't very well ask them, so it's either you or Harry, Hermione," Ron says.

" _I_ can't do it," Hermione says, looking at Ron in disbelief.

"Why not?" he asks, confused.

"Weren't you listening?" Hermione says, exasperated. "They think I'd do them in if I found out. I'm probably the last person they'd tell, besides maybe their mother."

"All right, Harry it is, then," Ron says.

"Harry could give it a pretty good try," I concede. "He probably won't get any real answers, but he might get a couple hints.  _Maybe_."

"Why don't we see what Lee knows, before we have Harry give it go?" Hermione suggests.

"That'd probably be a good idea," I agree, and Ron nods.

The two of them give me expectant looks, and I realize they mean for me to go ask him.

"All right, fine," I sigh, shaking my head and getting up from the table.

I make my way across the common room to Lee.

"'Sup, Knight?" he greets, grinning.

"Hey, Lee," I say, trying to mirror his grin. "Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone."

"Yeah, sure," he shrugs, looking confused.

He gets up and we walk away from the crowd of people he was with moments before.

"What is it?" he asks, when we're out of earshot of everyone else.

"I was wondering..." I trail off, realizing I need to choose my words very carefully and that I have no idea what to say, "I dunno... I was just... it's just... I was wondering if, um - it's about Fred and George," I blurt out abruptly.

"Er, okay?" he says, puzzled. "What about them?"

"I was wondering if-"

"Yeah, I get that you're wondering," Lee interjects, grinning.

I smile, letting out a laugh, before continuing. "It's just - have you noticed anything different about them, lately?" I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Lee blinks.

"What d'you mean by 'different'?" he asks.

"You know, like... out of the ordinary," I explain awkwardly.

"Well, they've always been more than a little out of the ordinary," Lee shrugs.

"Okay, well, different than how they usually act," I elaborate, getting impatient.

"Not really, I don't think..." he trails off, brow furrowed, and my heart drops down to the region of my stomach. So, he doesn't know. I'm not surprised, but I'm still extremely disappointed. "Well, actually, now that you mention it..."

My heart flies right back up to my chest. "What? What've you noticed?"

"I dunno... they've been acting kind of... secretive lately," he replied, not quite meeting my eyes. "Why, do you know anything?"

"What d'you mean by secretive? Have you noticed anything specific?" I ask him, crossing my arms, studying him carefully, choosing to ignore his question. Not that I have anything to hide, it's just that I have more pressing matters on my mind; he seems to be hiding something.

"I dunno... they're just whispering together a lot, and they get really nervous when people ask what they're talking about - they don't show it, but I see it," he says, shrugging, still not looking me in the eyes.

"Have you heard anything?" I ask him suspiciously.

"No - no, nothing," he shakes his head, looking a little too eager to deny this.

"You're sure about that?" I ask, eyebrows raised. "You look like you''re hiding something.

"No, I'm not. Why would I be hiding something?" he asks, and I just shrug.

"You tell me,"

"I'm not hiding anything," he insists. "Really."

"All right," I shrug. "If you say so..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry entering the common room.

"Look, I'll talk to you later, all right?" I say, smiling at him. "See you."

"Bye," he says, waving, looking worried.

I sit down back at my seat just as he sits next to me.

"What happened?" I ask immediately, and he launches into an explanation; about the dream, about the conversation he'd overheard that had been going on in Dumbledore's office, about what he'd seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve, and his discussion with Dumbledore afterwards.

"So - so Dumbledore thinks You-Know-Who is getting stronger again as well?" Ron whispers. "And he trusts Snape? He really trusts Snape, even though he knows he was a Death Eater."

Harry nods.

Hermione has not spoke for ten minutes. She's sitting with her forehead in her hands, staring down at her knees, looking extremely stressed out.

"Rita Skeeter," she mutters finally.

"How can you be worrying about her at a time like this?" Ron asks in utter disbelief.

"I'm not worrying about her," she says to her knees. "I'm just thinking... remember what she said to me in the Three Broomsticks? ' _I know things about Ludo Bagman that would make your hair curl._ ' This is what she mean, isn't it? She reported his trial, she knew he'd passed information to the Death Eaters."

"Yeah, but Bagman didn't mean to pass along information," Harry points out, but Hermione just shrugs.

"And Fudge reckons Madame Maxime attacked Crouch?" Ron asks, turning back to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry nods, "but he's only saying that because Crouch disappeared by the Beauxbatons carriage."

"We never thought of her, did we?" Ron says slowly. "Mine you, she's definitely got giant blood, and she doesn't want to admit it."

"Of course she doesn't," Hermione says sharply, looking up at last. "Look what happened to Hagrid when Rita found out about his mother. Look at Fudge, making accusations about, just because she's part giant. Who needs that sort of prejudice? I'd probably tell everyone I had big bones if I knew that's what I'd be facing if I told the truth."

Hermione looks at her watch, and gives a start. "We haven't done any practising! We were going to do the Impediment Curse! We'll really have to get down to it tomorrow! Come on, Harry, you need to get some sleep."

Hermione gets up briskly from her chair, says goodnight to both Harry and Ron, and starts to head for the girls' dormitories. Suddenly, very tired, I mutter good-nights to them, get up lazily, stretching, and stumble after her.

 

***

 

Ron, Hermione, and I should be studying for exams. Instead, we are dedicating our time to helping Harry prepare for the third task. He points this out to us, saying he could practice on his own for a while, but Hermione dismisses that immediately, saying that at least we'll do really well in Defence Against the Dark Arts. What she doesn't say is that Harry's life is way more important than a stupid exam.

Meanwhile, Sirius starts sending Harry daily owls, offering all sorts of advice, much to Harry's gratitude and annoyance.

The day of the first task, the Gryffindor table is loud and restless, many people running up to wish Harry good luck. I find that I can hardly say anything.

However, there is not much to be said, because suddenly we can see the Slytherins pointing and laughing at Harry, just as the owl delivering Hermione's copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ arrives. I look from the owl, to the Slytherins, and back again. It's not hard to figure out. Rita Skeeter has struck again.

Hermione snatches the article, reads it quickly, her face becoming angrier by the minute. When she finishes it, she sets it down immediately, seething.

Ron grabs it before Harry can, and scans through it. He becomes just as angry as Hermione is.

"What is it?" Harry asks impatiently, but instead Ron just gives it to me, clearly not wanting Harry to see it.

I take it, confused and worried; could it really be that bad?

It is.

 

**Harry Potter: Disturbed and Dangerous!**

_The boy who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is unstable and possibly dangerous, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Alarming evidence has recently come to light about Harry Potter's strange behaviour, which casts doubts upon his suitability to compete in a demanding competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts School. Potter, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, regularly collapses at school, and is often heard to complain of pain in the scar on his forehead (relic of the curse with which You-Know-Who attempted to kill him)._

_On Monday last, midway through a Divination lesson, your Daily Prophet reporter witnessed Potter storming from the class, claiming that his scar was hurting too badly to continue studying. It is possible, say top experts at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, that Potter's brain was affected by the attack inflicted upon him by You-Know-Who, and that his insistence that the scar is still hurting is an expression of his deep-seated confusion._

_"He might even be pretending," said one specialist. "This could be a plea for attention."_

_The Daily Prophet, however, has unearthed worrying facts about Harry Potter that Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has carefully concealed from the wizarding public._

_"Potter can speak Parseltongue," reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. "There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a duelling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he's made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he'd do anything for a bit of power."_

_Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defence League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any wizard who could speak Parseltongue "as a worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic, and are historically associated evildoers."_

_Similarly, "anyone who seeks out the company of such vicious creatures are werewolves and giants would appear to have a fondness for violence." Albus Dumbledore should surely consider whether a boy such as this should be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Some fear that Potter might resort to the Dark Arts in his desperation to win the tournament, the third task of which takes place this evening._

"Oh, you've got to be _kidding_ me!" I say, furious, the desire to hit someone coursing through me.

"What is it?" Harry snaps, annoyed.

I look at him for a moment, and consider hiding it. But then I dismiss that as stupid; he's obviously going to find out eventually, and I'd rather him find out like this, instead of from the Slytherins. So, slightly reluctant regardless of this, I hand him the article.

I watch as he reads it, and though he looks irritated, he doesn't seem to be as annoyed as the rest of us, which worries me and relieves me.

"Gone off me a bit, hasn't she?" is all Harry says, folding up the paper, his tone light.

"How did she know your scar hurt in Divination?" I say, unable to wrap my mind around it. "There's no way she was there, no way she could've heard-"

"The window was open," Harry shrugs. "I opened it to breathe."

"You were at the top of the North Tower!" Hermione says. "Your voice couldn't have carried all the way down to the grounds!"

"Well, you're the one who's supposed to be researching magical methods of bugging!" Harry snaps. "You tell me how she did it!"

"I've been trying! But I... I..." an off, dreamy sort of expression comes over Hermione's face. She slowly raises a hand and runs her fingers through her hair.

"Are you all right?" Ron asks, frowning at her.

"Yes," she says breathlessly.

She runs her hand through her hair again, then holds her hand up to her mouth as though talking into an invisible walkie-talkie. Harry, Ron, and I give each other bewildered looks.

"I've an idea," Hermione says finally. "I think I know... because nobody would be able to see... even Moody... and she'd have been able to get onto the window ledge... but she's not allowed... she's  _definitely_ not allowed... I think we've got her! Just give me two seconds in the library - just to make sure!"

With that, she grabs her bag and dashes out of the Great Hall.

"Oi!" Ron calls after her. "We've got out History of Magic exam in ten minutes! Blimey," he turns back to us, "she must really hate Skeeter is she's willing to miss the start of an exam. Hey, what're you doing in Binns' class today, reading again?"

Since the start of exams, Harry'd been sitting in the back of the classroom, looking up more hexes for the Third Task.

"Suppose so," Harry shrugs, but as he says this, McGonagall walks briskly towards us, stopping in front of Harry.

"Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast," she says.

"but the task's not 'til tonight!" Harry says, and worry surges through me, terrified that we'd gotten the time wrong.

"I'm aware of that, Potter," she says shortly. "The champions' families are allowed to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."

She walks away, and Harry and I gape at her.

"She doesn't expect the Dursleys to turn up, does she?" Harry says, shocked.

"She's barking, if she does," I say, shaking my head.

"Hazel, we'd better hurry, or we'll be late for Binns. See you later, Harry," Ron says.

"Bye, Harry," I say, nodding. "Good luck with - well, with whatever happens."

"See you," he calls after us, and we hurry down to History of Magic.

"I hope Harry'll be okay," I say worriedly. "It'll be awfully awkward going down there..."

"He'll be fine - probably," Ron says. "Besides, you should be worried for yourself - we haven't studied at all this year,"

"Ugh, I know, this is going to be awful," I groan.

And awful it is. I don't know the answer to any of the questions, and I end up just writing things randomly, talking about how violent goblins were, making up names that sounded legitimate, and just leaving full questions blank.

I fucking hate History of Magic.

At the end of the exams, Ron and I want to ask Hermione, who'd shown up just as the exam started, what she was on about at breakfast, but she hurries right back to the library afterwards.

"You know, if I could read her mind, I'm not sure if it'd make my life simpler, or more complicated," I say to Ron, as we watch her dash to the library.

"You and me bother," is all he says, and we walk down to lunch, discussing how badly we probably did on the exam.

When we enter the Great Hall, we're greeted with a surprise.

"Mum - Bill!" Ron says, shocked. "What're you doing here?"

"Come to watch Harry in the last task!" Mrs Weasley replies brightly. "I must say, it's a nice change, not having to cook. How was your exam?"

"Oh... okay, I guess," Ron shrugs. "Couldn't remember all the goblin names, so I invented a few. It's all right, though," he adds, helping himself to a Cornish pasty, when Mrs Weasley looks stern, "they're all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it wasn't hard."

I let out a laugh, but then immediately stifle it. This is the first time I've seen Mrs Weasley in person since the  _Witch Weekly_ article. I remember the Easter egg and feel slightly sick.

"Oh, hello, Hazel," Mrs Weasley says stiffly, looking upset that she'd been reminded of my existence.

I don't  _blame_ her, of course. According to these articles, I'm not only messing around with Harry, who she's quite fond of, but  _her son_. Still, I can't pretend I don't resent her for believing such utter rubbish.

"Hello," I say quietly.

Harry looks from me to Mrs Weasley, then says, "Mrs Weasley, you don't believe any of that rubbish Rita Skeeter writes, do you? Because none of the stuff she wrote about me and Hazel is true - including the stuff with Hermione."

"Oh!" Mrs Weasley says. "No - no, of course I didn't!"

But she behaves considerable warmed towards me after that - just like before. I feel a rush of gratitude towards Harry.

Hermione finally joins us just before dinner, looking satisfied with herself.

"So, are you going to tell us what that was about?" I ask her.

She shakes her head and nods discreetly at Mrs Weasley and Bill. "Later."

At dinner, there are more courses than usual, but a sense of nervousness starts to settle in stronger, and I find that I can't eat. I keep looking around the room, my eyes settling on Harry the most. A part of me realizes that that's probably not helping my case with Mrs Weasley, but I also find that I don't care - not right now, anyway.

As the enchanted ceiling turns a dusky purple, Dumbledore gets to his feet, and the room falls silent almost immediately.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes time I'll be asking you to file down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the field now."

Harry gets up, and Gryffindors all around his start cheering. I just smile at him, and he gets everything I'm trying to convey immediately - the perks of being best friends for nearly ten years.

Five minutes later, Dumbledore announces that it's time to go, and we all get up, the sound of so many scraping chairs making me cringe. My nervousness overpowers that annoyed feeling, though.

"He'll be fine," Hermione whispers. "He's more prepared for this than any of the other tasks, and he did fine on those."

"I know," I say, shaking my head. "I just can't help it."

The Quidditch pitch is almost unrecognisable. The hedges are twenty feet high, at least, and the sight of it makes me shiver. It looks extremely creepy. This is not how the Quidditch pitch should look.

The Weasleys, Hermione, and I file into a row near the back, waiting nervously for the task to start. It occurs to me that this is all very sick. We're sitting here, watching a couple of teenagers risking their lives for some glory and money. And that's all we're doing. Watching. How can anyone stand it? How can  _I_ stand it?

Bagman points his wand at his throat, mutters an incantation, and says, "Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eight-five points each - Mr Cedric Diggory and Mr Harry Potter, both at Hogwarts school!" The cheers and applause send birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the sky. "In second place, with eight points - Mr Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!" More applause, but Ron, on my left, defiantly refuses to clap. "And in third place - Miss Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!"

The applause is half-hearted, and the Weasleys and I only clap politely. Harry catches our eye and waves at us, and we wave back, beaming.

"So... on my whistle, Harry and Cedric," Bagman nods. "Three - two - one!"

Bagman gives a short blast of his whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurry forward into the maze. I squint at their forms, wanting to see them for as long as possible, but soon they are completely swallowed by darkness.

Everyone stands in what's mostly silence for a few minutes, the only noise being occasional cheers for Krum, until Bagman turns to Krum, says, "Off we go, then." and gives another blast of his whistle.

Krum hurries into the maze to the sound of cheers and applause.

Now that the three most popular champions are gone, it's basically silent. Fleur gets a good luck from two of her fellow students, but that's it. I feel kind of bad for her, even though I probably shouldn't.

"Okay, here we go," Bagman says, turning to Fleur. Another blast of the whistle, and Fleur all but runs into the maze; clearly she wants to make up for the last time and her past mistakes.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

This is it. The third task. There is nothing any of us can do.

All that there is left to do is wait.


	47. Waiting

**Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes**

**Chapter Forty-Seven: Waiting**

 

All that there is left to do is wait.

And so that is what I do.

That is what everyone does.

Everyone -  we are all waiting.

Some nervously, others excitedly. Some speculate about who they think is going to win. Others - those who are close to the champions - just pray that everything will turn out all right. Some talk to whoever is nearby because they got bored of waiting. Others talk to get their mind off their anxiety. And some cannot find it in themselves to speak.

I am among those people. Unfortunately, however, Fred, George, Bill and Ron are among those who talk to get their minds off what could be happening in the depths of the maze. And, unfortunately, the people nearby happen to be Hermione and Mrs Weasley - and me.

Fred and George're telling jokes that would be funny any other time. Ron is telling stories about his experiences at Hogwarts that I would help tell any other time, and Bill is telling stories about life in Egypt that would be interesting any other time. If only it wasn't today. Because even though Hermione insists that Harry will do fine and that he's well-prepared, I can't stop the ominous feeling I have about this task.

I hear Hermione's voice in my mind.  _Maybe they've been biding their time. Maybe this is the task where they're going to get you._

The sky grows gradually darker, and my worrying becomes gradually insistent.

I try to rationalize with myself, reminding myself that it's a large maze, countless obstacles, of course it'd take a long time...

But then we see red sparks in the sky, and I feel like throwing up. Who is it? Who's in trouble? After that, everyone in the stands is much more silent, sobered by the fact that the dangers the champions were real, realizing that people they know and like - maybe even love - might die tonight.

It grows darker, and I start to feel restless. I want to go and do something - anything. Anything but just sit here and wonder what's happening inside the maze. I wouldn't mind having to go in that maze myself, so long as I don't have to just sit around and so nothing.

Yet I do not do anything. I continue to sit and wait, like everyone else.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

I keep checking my watch, but after a while I stop bothering. For the champions, this is the easiest task. They knew exactly what was happening a month ahead of time and had a month to prepare, actually knowing what they were facing. But for the audience, this is the absolute worst task, for all we can do is sit and wait and none of us have any idea about what's going on, because everything is hidden by twenty foot high hedges.

And finally, we know who the person who sent up red sparks is.

"And Fleur Delacour has sent up red sparks, signalling her distress, and has now finished all three tasks of the Triwizard Tournament," Bagman booms. "Let's all give her a round of applause."

The applause is more enthusiastic than the one that followed her introduction, but it's still not much. Fleur doesn't seem to care all that much, though. I've never seen her look so dishevelled. Not even during the second task, when she'd been forced to return to the surface without her sister. I feel a pang of sympathy as I watch her run to her fellow friends and family, and I see Madame Maxime patting her on the back and saying something I can't quite catch.

But also a pang of relief, which I hate myself for. Harry has not been hurt - at least, not too badly. Nothing has happened to him. He's fine - at least, for now.

I should probably work on my positivity.

More red sparks. Worry surges through me. Who is it this time?

"And Viktor Krum has sent up red sparks, signalling his distress, and has now finished all three tasks of the Triwizard Tournament," Bagman announces, as Krum appears with Hagrid. "Let's all give him a round of applause."

The applause for him is much more enthusiastic than Fleur's, but he doesn't seem to take much notice in anything. He looks disoriented, looking around in confusion, as if he's never seen this place before. What's wrong with him? Hermione is much more concerned than I am about the matter.

"What d'you think happened to him? Is he all right?"

I think he's far from all right, but Ron simply shrugs and grumbles. "He's alive, isn't he? That's all right enough,"

Hermione glares at him, but doesn't say anything.

"The remaining contestants are Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, both of Hogwarts school!!" Bagman continues, though he doesn't need to say it. It's obvious that everyone in the stadium is thinking it.

The sky grows still more darker, and time passes slowly as ever. Why are they not finished yet? What kind of obstacles could possibly be in there? Is the Point-Me spell not working properly? How could it possible be taking this long? It's impossible. They should've been finished by now.

And finally, after what could've been hours or minutes - time seems to pass particularly slow during tasks, I would've thought days had passed if it weren't for the sky telling me otherwise - two bodies appear just before the entrance of the maze. I squint at them, and let out a whoop, but nobody hears over the sound of everyone else.

It's Harry and Cedric. And Harry is clutching the Triwizard Cup.

_They won._

Well, one of them did, certainly. It looks like a tie, but who knows? Maybe ties aren't allowed and they're going to have to play a magical, dangerous version of Rock, Paper, Scissors for it.

But then I start to assess the scene more carefully, and questions start to form in my mine. Why did they just suddenly appear? Is the Cup a Portkey? It's awfully considerate of the judges to just transport the winner back, instead of having them go through the maze all over again. And it's also unlikely.

Then I start to notice the position Harry and Cedric are in. Harry is slumped over Cedric, as though protecting him from everyone here, and though I can't hear it over all the noise, I'm close enough to see that his eyes are glistening, and his face is wet.

Either he put in so much effort in this task that his eyes are sweating, or he's crying. The latter seems more likely. But why would he be crying?

That's when I look at Cedric. I look at his eyes, usually so full of life and laughter. They are now lifeless. And this is all so out of character, this entire scene. If they won the tournament, they would be upright, smiling and laughing in triumph, proud of themselves as they stare around at the stadium, everyone cheering wildly for them. This would not be happening. This  _should_ not be happening. It only means one thing.

Cedric Diggory is dead.

My heart drops, and my knees buckle. I have to clutch onto Fred and Ron's arms to keep myself from collapsing. I can feel myself shaking, and I try to take deep breaths, but they come out shaky and uneven.

"Hazel, are you all right?" Ron asks, baffled.

"What's wrong, Knight?" Fred ass, just as confused. "It's all right - they're okay. Be happy."

I shake my head, and try to speak, but no sound comes out. All the present Weasleys and Hermione are now looking at me, as though they are seriously judging my mental health. But it's not me they should be looking at. Their attention should not be focused on me.

 _Don't look at me,_ I plead silently.  _Look at them, look! He's dead, please, someone help!_

I can't process it in my mind. When I think of Cedric Diggory, I think of a fierce friend, a loving, gentle person, someone who never fails to be kind and fair and true. Someone who is very much alive and does not take advantage of that. It's impossible to think that someone like Cedric Diggory - someone who is always so full of life - could possibly be dead. It's impossible. It absolutely can not be true. They're playing a horrible joke on all of us, because nothing else could possible make sense.

But it does make sense, because Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff and Percy seem to catch on when I do, and they start to rush forward. And when they rush forward, Fleur notices, and the gorgeous smile on her face fades immediately, replaced by a look of utter horror. And she lets out a piercing shriek, one that goes over all the noise, a horrible, horrible scream.

After the scream, everyone else understands what has happened, and the noise starts up again, horrible and chaotic and I want it to end, because after she screamed things really got real for me. Cedric Diggory  _is_ dead. And he does not deserve this chaos. He deserves silence and respect.

Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff and Percy are talking. I want to know what they're talking about, I want to know how Harry's doing, and a ridiculous part of me wants reassurance that Cedric is actually not dead, that he is in a coma and he will be right as rain in no time.

I straighten up, and try to run down the stands, but Ron and Fred grab onto me firmly, not letting me go. I struggle as hard as I can against them, but their grip is strong and firm and I realize there is no way I can release myself, but I continue to try anyway. I have to know, I have to know.

"Come on, Knight, take it easy," Fred whispers, and his voice brings me back to reality, and I calm down. I stop struggling. "There we go," he whispers, rubbing my cheek with his thumb, and I realize he is wiping tears away. I bring my hand up to my face in shock. I didn't even realize that I was crying. I wipe them away quickly.

Meanwhile, Amos Diggory and his wife are fighting wildly, practically clawing at those who try to keep them away from their son. I want to help. They are his parents; they, of all people, deserve to be with Cedric the most right now.

"get away - get away! - that's my  _son_!" Amos Diggory screams at Bagman, pushes Harry away, he was still clinging to Cedric, even as he was explaining what happened. "That's my son," Amos moans, his wails loud and despairing, and the reality of it keeps hitting me again and again. Cedric is dead. Cedric is dead. Cedric is dead. " _That's my boy._ "

Amos' wife just drops to her knees beside him, stroking her son's hair, tears falling silently down her face. She's whispering words under her breath, things that nobody but herself can hear, probably. I want to know what she's saying, but at the same time, I'd rather live my life never knowing.

Amos' loud sobs, and his wife's silent crying finally shuts everyone up, and I'm glad for the silence, even if it's not actual silence. This is what Cedric and his family deserves. Respect.

I realize I'm crying again, and I do not try to stop them or wipe them away - for now, anyway - because I'll just continue to cry anyway, so for now I allow myself to cry myself out. I'm glad that I'm not loud with my crying, because it'd be awful of me to do to Cedric's parents. I am utterly irrelevant in Cedric's life compared to them, what right do I have to be crying so openly like this?

Fred realizes I'm crying, and gathers me in his arms, strokes my hair. I grip onto his shirt, as though this will keep me from breaking completely, allow myself to cry into his chest, glad that he is not trying to tell me any comforting things, like he's in a better place or that it'll be okay. Because those are lies, and I'd punch him if he ever dared tell me that.

Amos' sob finally subside after a while, and I take a few minutes to calm myself down, then pull away, taking deep, uneven breaths. Fred still has his arms around my waist, and I'm grateful for it. I scan the scene again, and notice Harry is gone.

"Where - where's Harry?" I ask, my voice practically silent and shaky.

"Moody took him somewhere - practically dragged him, really," Fred replies shrugging.

A part of me stops feeling grief long enough to feel curiosity and confusion. That seems unlikely. Wouldn't Moody want as many people keeping as many eyes on Harry as possible at a time like this? Wouldn't want Harry with Dumbledore the whole time, under his complete and full protection?

But it's impossible to go too long without Cedric's lifeless eyes showing up in my mind, and so I give up on my curiosity for the first time in a while, because there are more important things to feel.

Cedric deserves that much.


	48. Stranger Things Have Happened

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Eight: Stranger Things Have Happened**

 

The noise starts to die down into silence, only interrupted by an occasional sniff or choked sob. A sort of numbness has settled over me, and I simply look down at Cedric's body, a part of me wishing they'd take the body away, another part of me hoping they never do, because once they do it'll  _really_ hit me that he's gone, and I'm not sure if I can take it right now.

"Come on, Knight, let's get out of here," Fred whispers, holding onto me tighter than before.

"Where?" I ask, my voice tight.

"We're going to the hospital wing," he replies. "We figure Harry'll be in there, considering what happened."

I nod, and allow him to guide me away from it all, and I look back at Cedric's body for as long as I can, thinking a final goodbye that I never got to say.

_You know, this is bullshit, don't you, Cedric? You're only seventeen and you're dead. What bullshit is that? You deserved more, you had more going for you. Fuck it, whatever, I'll miss you, we all will, and it sounds meaningless in my head - I'm glad I'm not saying it out loud, I'd look like an idiot, of course we'll all miss you - but it's true and there's no other way to put it, because I loved you and your parents loved you and Cho loved you and everyone fucking loved you and it's not fucking fair that you're dead. And I hate that I'm saying goodbye, because what am I supposed to say? Just 'bye'? That sounds useless. But maybe it's because it's useless and kind of nice and normal that I need to say it. So something seems normal? I don't know, I just hope wherever you now are is nice. Anyway, goodbye, Cedric, I guess._

And after that rant in my head, I can't see him any more, so I turn away, wondering what the point of everything that just went through my head. It's not like he can hear me.

Or maybe he can. Stranger things have happened.

 

***

 

The Weasleys, Hermione and I are in the hospital wing, and they're all harassing Madam Pomfrey, demanding to see Harry. I don't join in, and I stop paying attention after she insists she doesn't know where he is.

I see no reason for her to lie - at least, not to us. We're close to Harry, if anyone should be visiting, it's us, and Madam Pomfrey knows that. If Harry was here, and Madam Pomfrey simply did not want him to have visitors at the moment, she would tell us. She's stern and honest, she wouldn't try to hide anything - and why should she, anyway?

I let my mind wander, until the door opens and in comes Harry, Dumbledore and, much to my surprise, Sirius. Well, right now he's Snuffles. Mrs Weasley lets out a muffled scream.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" she starts toward him, but Dumbledore stops her.

"Molly," he says patiently, holding up a hand, "please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it to me. What he needs now is sleep, peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him," he gestures at the rest of us, "you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening."

Mrs Weasley nods, looking very pale. We probably all are. She rounds on the rest of us, and hisses, "Didn't you hear him? He needs quiet!" as if we were being noisy.

"Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey says, starting at the great black dog that is Sirius, "may I ask what-"

"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," Dumbledore explains simply. "I assure you, he is very well trained." I let out a snort at that, and bring my hands up to my face afterwards, sheepish. "Harry - I will wait while you get into bed. I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry. I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school." With that, he leaves the hospital wing.

As Madam Pomfrey leads harry to a bed, and we follow, I see Moody spraeled on a bed. I stare, shocked. What happened? But I decide not to ask. I think I'll find out tomorrow, anyway.

Madam Pomfrey hands Harry pajamas, and he closes the screen around him, changes, then opens the screen, and the Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius, and I take seats around him. Ron, Hermione, and I are looking at him cautiously, scared for him.

"I'm all right," he says. "Just tired."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes fill with tears as she smooths his bed-covers unnecessarily.

Madam Pomfrey, who had bustled over to her office, returns, holding a bottle of some sort of purple potion and a goblet.

"You'll need to drink all of this, Harry," she states. "It's a potion for dreamless sleep."

He takes the goblet and drinks a few mouthfuls. Immediately, I can tell that the potion is fast-acting, because his eyes droop closed, he sinks back into bed, and quickly falls asleep.

 

Unfortunately, Harry does not get the opportunity to sleep for very long, because shouts sound from outside the hall. Mrs. Weasley is on her feet, her brow furrowed. Worried and annoyed, we look from Harry to the door, wishing they'd shut up.

"They'll wake him if they don't shut up!" I hiss.

"What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can't it?" Hermione asks.

"That's Fudge's voice," she whispers after a moment. "And Minerva McGonagall, isn't it? But what are they talking about?"

And now I can hear the sound of pounding footsteps, people running to the hospital wing. And if it is Fudge and McGonagall, what are they doing? What could they be arguing over?

"Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva-" Fudge says loudly.

"You should never have brought it into the castle!" McGonagall yells. "When Dumbledore finds out-"

The hospital doors burst open, and Fudge comes striding in, McGonagall and Snape at his heels.

"Where's Dumbledore?" Fudge demands rudely of Mrs. Weasley.

"He's not here," she snaps, and I smile slightly.

_You go, Mrs. Weasley._

"This is the hospital wing, Minister, don't you think you'd do better to-"

But at that moment, the door opens once more, and Dumbledore comes sweeping into the ward, examining the situation.

"What has happened?" Dumbledore asks sharply, looking from Fudge to McGonagall. "Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I'm surprised at you - I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch-"

Barty Crouch? Have they found him? Why would she need to stand guard over him?

"There is no need for me to stand over him any more, Dumbledore!" she shrieks. "The Minister has seen to that!" I've never seen Professor McGonagall lose control like this. There are angry red blotches on her cheeks, and her hands are balled into fists. She's shaking with fury, and I wonder what could've possible happened that would make her so angry.

"When we told him we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight's events," Snape says, in a low voice, "he seemed to feel that his personal safety was in question. He insisted on bringing a Dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch-"

 _The Death Eater responsible for tonight's events._  A Death Eater was responsible for tonight's events. But why would Barty Crouch be involved? Until I remember.

Barty Crouch had a son, who was conveniently named Barty Crouch, too. And it was him.

Barty Crouch Junior is alive. He made all of this happen. But  _how_? How could he have possibly done it?

"I told you he would not agree!" McGonagall fumes. "I told him you would never allow Dementors to step foot in the castle, but-"

"My dear woman," Fudge roars, who is also angrier than I've ever seen him, "as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous-"

But Professor McGonagall's voice drowns out Fudge's.

"The moment that he brought that - that  _thing_ into the room," she screams, pointing at Fudge, trembling all over, "it swooped down on Crouch and - and-"

She doesn't need to continue. The Dementor performed its fatal kiss on Crouch. It had sucked his soul right out of his mouth. Barty Crouch Junior may still be alive, but he'd be better off dead.

"By all accounts, he is no loss!" Fudge insists. "It seems that he has been responsible for several deaths."

"But he cannot give testimony, now, Cornelius," Dumbledore says, staring hard at Fudge as if he was seeing him plainly for the first time. "He cannot give evidence as to why he killed those people."

"Why he killed them? Well, that's no mystery, is it?" Fudge blusters. "He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who's instructions!"

"Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions," says Dumbledore. "Those deaths were a mere by-product of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body."

My breath hitches, and for a moment, I swear to God, my heart stops beating.

I whip around to look at Harry, though I'm not sure why, since he's asleep.

But he's not asleep. He's wide awake and sitting up, watching the whole thing take place, glasses on and everything. How did I not notice? I raise an eyebrow, fearful, as if to ask:  _Is it really true?_ He nods at me, then puts his fingers to his lips; clearly he doesn't want people to know he's awake just yet.

I nod and look back around. Everyone is too busy paying attention to the argument to have noticed me. Fudge looks as though someone had just swing a heavy weight into his face - and I bet everyone in this room would like to, including me. Dazed and blinking, he stares at Dumbledore, as though unable to understand what he'd just heard. He begins to sputter, still staring at Dumbledore.

"You-Know-Who... returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore..."

"As Minerva and Severus have doubtlessly told you," Dumbledore says, "we heard Barty Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort - learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins - went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch helped Voldemort return."

I can hardly process this, but when I do, it makes perfect sense. That must've been the man in his dreams, the one Harry never recognized. It was Barty Crouch Junior.

Fuck.

"See here, Dumbledore," Fudge says, and I'm surprised to see a smile dawning on his face, "you - you can't seriously believe that You-Know-Who is back? Come now, come now... certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who's orders - but to take the word of a lunatic like that..."

"When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort," Dumbledore explains steadily. "He witnessed Lord Voldemort's rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office."

Dumbledore glances at Harry, sees that he's awake, but shakes his head. "I'm afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight."

Fudge's curious smile lingers, and it makes me want to punch him in the face. He glances at Harry, then back at Dumbledore, before saying. "You are - er - prepared to take Harry's work on it, are you, Dumbledore?"

There's a moment of silence, which is broken by Sirius growling. His hackles are raised, and he's baring his teeth at Fudge. I grin.

 _Bite him, Snuffles!_ I urge silently.

"Certainly, I believe Harry," Dumbledore nods, his eyes blazing now. "I heard Crouch's confession, and Harry's account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense. They explain everything that happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer."

Fudge still has that strange smile on his face. Can he  _stop_ smiling like that? Once again, he glances at Harry before replying.

"You are prepared to believe that You-Know-Who has returns, on the word of a lunatic murder and a boy who... well..."

Fudge shoots Harry another look.

"You've been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge," Harry says quietly, and it all clicks. Fudge is among the people who think Harry is, in Skeeter's words, disturbed and dangerous.

Hermione and the Weasley's all jump, having not realized that Harry was awake. Sirius, however, does not look surprised.

Fudge reddens, but a defiant look comes over his face all the same.

"And if I have?" he says, looking at Dumbledore. "If I discovered you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh?" Oh,  _please._ That news is  _so_ two years ago. "And having funny turns all over the place-"

"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?" Dumbledore asks coolly.

"Listen to me, Cornelius," Dumbledore takes a step forward, and he radiates a kind of power that reminds me why people think him to be the most powerful wizard in the world. "Harry is as sane as you and I. The scar on his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts when Voldemort is nearby, or feeling particularly murderous."

Fudge had taken a step back when Dumbledore had taken a step forward, but he still likes stubborn.

"You'll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I've never heard a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before!"

"Look, I saw Voldemort come back!" Harry shouts, trying to get out of bed, but Mrs. Weasley pushes him back. "I saw the Death Eaters" I can give you their name! Lucius Malfoy-"

Snape makes a sudden movement, but when I look around at him, his eyes fly back to Fudge.

"Malfoy was cleared!" Fudge insists, visibly affronted. "A very old family - donations to excellent causes-"

It's all to easy to get into Fudge's good books, isn't it? Who cares if you're a Death Eater, so long as you donate to some causes?

"Macnair!" Harry continues.

"Also cleared! Working for the Ministry!"

"Avery - Nott - Crabbe - Goyle-"

"You are merely repeating the names of people who were acquitted of being a Death Eater thirteen years ago!" Fudge says angrily. "You could've found these names in old reports of trials! For heaven's sake, Dumbledore - the boy was full of some crackpot story last year, too - his tales are getting taller, and you're still swallowing them! The boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still find him trustworthy?"

"You fool!" Professor McGonagall cries. "Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!"

"I see no evidence to the contrary!" he blusters, his face purpling.

_Well, maybe if you didn't let the one person with evidence get his soul sucked out..._

"It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for in the past thirteen years!"

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Fudge was never perfect. I never really liked him that much, he always seemed pompous, yes, but still rather good-natured... this is a whole different man, a Fudge nobody else seemed to have known about before today.

"Voldemort has returns," Dumbledore repeats firmly. "If you accept that fact straight away, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the Dementors."

"Preposterous!" shouts Fudge once more. "Remove the Dementors? I'd get kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know that the Dementors are standing guard at Azkaban."

"The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort's most dangerous supporters in the care of people who will join them in the instant he asks them! They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and pleasures than you can! With the Dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the kind of power he had thirteen years ago!"

Fudge continues to open and close his mouth, as though no words can express his rage. Dumbledore takes advantage of his silence.

"The second thing you must do, and at once," Dumbledore continues, "is send envoys to the giants."

"Envoys to the giants?" Fudge shrieks. "What kind of madness is this?"

"Extend the hand of friendship now, before it is too late," Dumbledore advises, "or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone will give them their rights and freedom!"

"You - you cannot be serious!" he gasps, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. "If the magical community got word that I approached the giants - they hate them, Dumbledore - end of my career-"

"You are blinded," Dumbledore interrupts him, the aura of power so strong you can practically reach out and touch it, "by the love of the office you hold! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your Dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any, and look at what he chose to make of his life!"

 _The last remaining member._ Which must mean Barty Crouch - Senior - is dead. A shiver runs through my body, and Fred puts his arm around me, and I lean into his body, grateful for it. A part of me registers just how well Fred and I  _fit_ together, like pieces of a puzzle, finally connected...

"I tell you now - take the steps that I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act, and you will forever be remembered as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world that we have tried to rebuild!"

"Insane," Fudge shakes his head, still backing away. "Mad..."

And then there is silence. Madam Pomfrey is frozen at the foot of Harry's bed, hand over her mouth. Mrs. Weasley is still standing over Harry, hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising, even though he'd given up on it long ago. The rest of us are all staring at Fudge, unable to believe what has happened.

"If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius," Dumbledore finally says, breaking the silence, "then we have reached a parting of the ways. You will act as you see fit. And I - I will act as I see fit."

It isn't a threat - it's clear by the way he spoke - but Fudge starts advancing furiously as if Dumbledore was threatening him with a wand.

"Now see here, Dumbledore," he says, waving a threatening finger. "I've given you free reign, always! I've had a lot of respect for you. I may not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I kept quiet. There aren't many people who'd let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me-"

"The only one who I intend to work against, Cornelius, is Voldemort," Dumbledore says. "If you are against him, then we remain on the same side."

It seems Fudge can think of no answer to this. He rocks backwards and forwards on his small feet and spins his bowler hat in his hands for a moment.

Finally, he says, with a hint of plea in his voice, "He can't be back, Dumbledore, he just can't be..."

Snape suddenly strides past Dumbledore, pulling up his sleeves as he goes. He sticks his forearm out, showing it to Fudge, who recoils.

"There! There, the Dark Mark!" he says harshly, and my eyes widen, even though I already knew he was a Death Eater. "It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but it's still visible. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into them by the Dark Lord. It was our means of distinguishing each other, and his means of summoning us. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate immediately, and Apparate at his side.

"This Mark has been growing clearer all year, as has Karkaroff's. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He had betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a warm welcome back into the fold."

Fudge starts to back away from Snape, appearing not to have heard a word Snape said.

He stares, looking appalled, at the Mark on Snape's forearm, before looking back up at Dumbledore and whispering, "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I've had enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry."

Just when he's at the door, he stops short, turns around, strides to Harry's bed, dropping a heavy looking bag on the table.

"Your winnings. One thousand Galleons. There would've been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances..."

He crams his bowler hat onto his head, strides out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The moment the door closes, Dumbledore turns to the group around Harry's bed.

"There is work to be done," he says. "Molly... am I right in thinking I can trust you and Arthur?"

"Of course you can," she nods. She's white in the lips, but looks resolute. "We know what Fudge is. It's Arthur's love for Muggles that's kept him with the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride."

"Then I need you to send a message to Arthur," says Dumbledore. "All those that we can persuade must be contacted immediately, and he is well-placed to talk to those who are not as short-sighted as Cornelius."

"I'll go to Dad," Bill offers standing up. "I'll go right now."

"Excellent," Dumbledore says. "Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Cornelius thinks I'm interfering at the Ministry-"

"Leave it to me," Bill says reassuringly.

He claps a hand on Harry's shoulder, kisses his mother's cheek, puts his cloak on, and strides out of the room.

Dumbledore turns to McGonagall, and asks for her to send Hagrid, and - if possible - Madame Maxime to his office. She nods and strides out of the room without a word. Dumbledore then asks Madam Pomfrey to get Winky, do what she can for her, then bring her to the kitchen. Madam Pomfrey looks confused, but obeys all the same.

Then, Dumbledore looks from the black dog that is Sirius, to Snape, then asks for Sirius to resume his usual form. My eyes widen, not sure if this is a very good idea.

"SIRIUS BLACK!" Mrs. Weasley shrieks, pointing at him, looking terrified.

"Mum, shut up!" Ron yells. "It's okay."

Snape does not yell or jump backward, but he has a look of mingled horror and fury on his face.

"Him!" he says, furious. "What is he doing here?"

"He is here on my invitation," Dumbledore replies. "As you are, Severus. I trust you both, and it is time to lay aside you own differences and trust each other."

Personally, I think Dumbledore is asking for a near miracle, and Sirius and Snape just glare at each other. Dumbledore gets impatient.

"I will settle, in short term, for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. There is little time now, and if the few of us who know the truth do not stand together, there is no hope for us."

Very slowly, and looking as though they wished the other nothing but ill, they shakes hands, pulling apart as soon as possible.

"That will do to be going on with," Dumbledore nods. "Now I have work for each of you. Fudge's attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to contact Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher - the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while, I'll contact you there."

"But-" Harry begins, and I suddenly feel very bad for him.

"You'll see me very soon, Harry," Sirius assures him, turning to Harry. "I promise you. But I must do what I can. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Harry nods. "Yeah... of course I do."

Sirius grasps his hand briefly, nods at Dumbledore, and transforms into a dog, running the length of the room, and slipping out the door. Dumbledore turns to Snape.

"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared..."

"I am," says Snape. He looks paler than usual, and his black eyes glitter strangely. I wonder what it is he has to do.

"Then good luck," Dumbledore says, and watches with a look of apprehension as Snape sweeps out of the room after Sirius.

It's several minutes until Dumbledore speaks again.

"I have to go downstairs. I must see the Diggorys," with a wave of pain I'm reminded of Cedric. "Harry - take the rest of your potion. I will see all of you later."

When Dumbledore disappears, we all look back at Harry, who has slumped back into bed, none of us sure what to say.

"You've got to take the rest of your potion, Harry," Mrs. Weasley insists. "You have a nice, long sleep. Try to think of something else for a while... think of your winnings! A thousand Galleons!"

"I don't want that gold," Harry says in an expressionless voice. "You have it. Anyone can have it. I shouldn't have won it. It should've been Cedric's." He looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, clearly trying to fight off tears.

But that's ridiculous. If he had let Cedric take it, then he would've been transported on his own, he would've been killed, and nobody would know for who knows how long. And nobody would ever be sure what really happened, too. Not only is he honouring Cedric in a way, but he's saved a lot of time from being wasted. Time that could be - and will be, I can tell - put to good use.

"It isn't you fault, Harry," I whisper.

"I told him to take the Cup with me," he shakes his head, still looking at the ceiling.

Realizing that he's very close to crying, I look away for his sake, wishing Ron would do so, too. Mrs. Weasley sets the potion down, bends down, and puts her arms around Harry. And I can see his face and he's screwing up his face against what must be unimaginable guilt and grief and misery and I'm suddenly so grateful for Mrs. Weasley for taking care of Harry. Like a mother.

Mrs. Weasley and Harry pull away at the sound of a loud slamming. Hermione is standing by the window, clutching something tightly in her hand.

"Sorry," she whispers. I raise an eyebrow at her, silently asking for an explanation, but she just shakes her head and mouths 'later'. I remember her epiphany earlier and wonder if it's about that.

"Your potion, Harry," Mrs. Weasley, wiping her tears on the back of her hand.

Harry drains the whole thing in one gulp, and, once again, the effect is instantaneous. I find myself feeling jealous of Harry, because even though he definitely needs it more than I do, dreamless sleep sounds perfect right about now.


	49. Everything Has Changed

****Either Love is Blind, or Friendship Closes Its Eyes** **

**Chapter Forty-Nine: Everything Has Changed**

 

Dumbledore's announcement to the school doesn't say much, just to leave Harry alone and not badger him with details about what happened in the maze. I find my mind wandering every few seconds, and all I want to do is leave and go on a walk and think.

And that's exactly what I do. In fact, it's what I do during most of my free time. I walk around; sometimes around the castle, sometimes outside; sometimes alone, sometimes with others. It makes me realize that I should walk more often. It calms me down.

After Harry gets out of the hospital wing. I notice people start to avoid looking at Harry, moving out of his way whenever he's nearby. I remember Rita Skeeter's latest article and decide most of them must believe it, are probably formulating their own ideas as to how Cedric died. Whenever I think of this, my eyes flicker to Harry nervously, only to discover him looking completely and utterly unconcerned.

It doesn't surprise me that much. He probably has more things on his mind than the opinions of a few Hogwarts students he probably doesn't even know.

Most of the time, these days, we just talk about other things, or Harry and I just watch in silence as Ron and Hermione play chess.

We also go to see Hagrid quite often, now what we have our Defence Against the Dark Arts classes free - they've been cancelled, due to the discovery that he was an imposter and the real Moody was locked in a trunk for nearly ten months.

The Thursday afternoon before the End of the Year Feast, we use this free time to visit. Fang bounds out the open door as we approach, barking and wagging his tail madly.

"Who's that?" Hagrid calls, coming out the door. "Harry!" he strides out to meet us, pulls Harry into a one-armed hug, ruffles his hair, and says, "Good ter see yeh, mater. Good ter see yeh."

When we enter Hagrid's cabin, we see two bucket-sized cups and saucers on the wooden table.

"Bin havin' a cuppa with Olympe," Hagrid explains. "She's jus' left."

"Who?" asks Ron curiously.

"Madame Maxime, o' course!"

"That's great! You two have made up, then?" I ask.

"Dunno what yeh're talkin' about," Hagrid says airily, fetching more cups from the dresser.

When he had made tea and offered us doughy cookies, he leans back in his chair, surveying Harry with his beetle-black eyes.

"You all righ'?" he asks gruffly.

"Yeah," Harry says. He always was a terrible liar.

"No, yeh're not," Hagrid shakes his head. "Course yeh're not. But yeh will be."

Harry doesn't reply. There's not much to say to that.

"Knew he was going ter come back," he continues, and we look up at him in shock. "Known it for years. Knew he was out there, bidin' his time. It had ter happen. Well, not it has, an' we'll jus' have ter get on with it. We'll fight. Migh' be able ter stop him before he gets a good hold. That's Dumbledore's plan, anyway. Great man, Dumbledore. 'S long as we got him, I'm not too worried."

Hagrid raises a bushy eyebrow at the disbelieving looks on our faces.

"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," he shrugs. "What's comin' will come, an' we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me what yeh did, Harry," Hagrid's chest swells with pride. "Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."

Harry smiles back at him, and I feel extremely grateful for Hagrid, for that's the first time Harry has smiled in days.

"What's Dumbledore asked you to do, Hagrid?" he asks. "He sent Professor McGonagall to ask you and Madame Maxime to meet him - that night."

"Got a little job fer me over the summer," he replies. "Secret, though. I'm not s'pposed ter talk about it, no, not even ter you lot. Olympe - Madame Maxime ter you - migh' be comin' with me. I think she will. Think I got her persuaded."

"Is it to do with Voldemort?"

Hagrid flinches at the sound of the name, evasively saying. "Migh' be. Now, who would like ter come and visit the las' Skrewt with me? I was jokin' -jokin'!" he adds hastily, seeing our expressions.

 

***

 

It's with a heavy heart that I pack my stuff the day before my return to Privet Drive. I'm dreading the End of the Year feast, which I usually looked forward to. I'm dreading the inevitable discussion of Cedric Diggory and all that happened in the maze, dreading the whispers and stares and the grief.

I'm also dreading my return to Privet Drive. This is hardly new - I've never liked summer vacation because of the Martins - but this year is different. This year I find returning to the Muggle world and not knowing what's going on in the wizard world - the world I  _belong_ in - almost unbearable. Find returning to a world where nothing is wrong frustrating, because as far as I'm concerned everything is wrong, and I belong and care about that world where everything is wrong and I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave, I don't want to leave.

Hermione already finishes packing two nights ago, and is sitting on her bed, reading, waiting for me to finish. She looks up from her book, smiles slightly.

"You know, you really should start packing earlier," she points out.

"Probably," I shrug. "We both know that's not really happened, though."

When Harry, Ron, Hermione and I enter the Great Hall, we see that the usual decorations are gone. The Great Hall is usually decorated with the winning House's colours for the feast, but tonight, there are black drapes on the wall behind the teacher's table, obviously as a mark of respect to Cedric.

I scan the teacher's table as we sit down, and see that Moody - the real Moody - is there. He's extremely twitchy and jumps every time someone speaks to him. I can't blame him. Moody was already paranoid enough, and add that to a ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk, I'll be surprised if he manages to ever be totally relaxed again.

I also see that Karkaroff's seat is empty, and wonder where he is now, wonder whether or not Voldemort has found him yet, whether or not he's still alive. If Voldemort  _has_ found him, the answer to the latter is obviously no.

Madame Maxime is still there, and she's sitting next to Hagrid, talking in low voices. By the way they're looking at each other, it's hard to believe that there was a time when Hagrid could hardly stand to talk  _about_ her, let alone   _to_ her.

Further down the table is Snape, not talking to anyone, and the longer I look at him, the more my curiosity grows. What job has he taken up again? Snape had been a spy for Dumbledore, at "great personal risk." Is that what he's doing now, taking up his old position as Dumbledore's spy? Has he contacted the Death Eaters - Voldemort himself? Is he that important to Voldemort? Is he pretending that he had never really gone over to Dumbledore, that he, like Voldemort himself, was biding his time, waiting for him to return?

My thoughts are interrupted by Dumbledore standing up from his seat in the middle of the teacher's table. The Great Hall, which is, in any case, much quieter than usual, falls dead silent.

"The end," Dumbledore says, his eyes sweeping the Hall, "of another year." He pauses, his eyes lingering on the Hufflepuff table. Their table is the most subdued, and their faces are the palest and saddest. "There is much I'd like to say to you all tonight, but I must first acknowledge the loss of a fine young man, who should be sitting here," he gestures at the Hufflepuff table, "enjoying the feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand and raise your glasses to Cedric Diggory."

We do it - everyone in the Hall stands up, raises their goblets, and murmurs, in one low, rumbling voice. "Cedric Diggory."

"Cedric Diggory was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore continues, once we've all sat down. "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about."

At this, I look up quickly from the table to stare at Dumbledore, shocked.

"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

A panicked whisper spreads through the Great Hall, people looking at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. Dumbledore watches them calmly, waiting for them to mutter themselves into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish for me to tell you this," Dumbledore continues. "It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I've done so - either because they do not believe that Lord Voldemort has returns, or that they do not wish for you to know, young as you are.

"It is my belief, however, that the truth is preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory."

Stunned and frightened, every face is on Dumbledore - or, almost every face, for Draco Malfoy's back is to Dumbledore, and he's muttering something to Crabbe and Goyle. Anger rushes through me, momentarily overpowering any other emotion, and I force myself to look at Dumbledore, because I know that if I keep looking at them, I'll lose my temper.

"There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric's death," Dumbledore goes on. "I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter."

Heads turn away from Dumbledore, face Harry, before focusing on Dumbledore, and my eyes flicker to Harry for a second.

"Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore continues. "He risked his only life to return Cedric's body. He showed, in every respect, the kind of bravery that few wizards show when facing Lord Voldemort, and for that, I honour him."

Dumbledore turns gravely to Harry and raises his goblet. Nearly everyone follows suit, standing up again and murmuring Harry's name. But there are gaps in the standing figures; most of the Slytherins are staying defiantly in their seats, their goblets untouched, some even glaring at Dumbledore or Harry. The sight makes me want to scream. Don't they see that this is more than a stupid house rivalry? When everyone sits back down again, Dumbledore goes on. "The Triwizard Tournament's aim was to further promote magical understanding. In light of what has happened - in light of Lord Voldemort's return, these ties will be more important than ever."

Dumbledore looks from Madame Maxime and Hagrid, to Fleur Delacour and her fellow Beauxbatons students, to Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table. I notice Krum looks rather wary, as though expecting Dumbledore to say something harsh.

"Every guest in his Hall," Dumbledore continues, his eyes lingering on the Durmstrang students, "will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all again - in light of Voldemort's return, we are only as strong as we are united, as we as we are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can only fight by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all when our aims are identical and out hearts are open.

"It is my belief - and I have never so hoped that I'm mistaken - that we are facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall might have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst. Remember Cedric. Remember, when you find yourself in a position where you must make the decision between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good and kind and brave and true, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."

 

***

 

My trunk is packed, Midnight in his cage on top of it, and my sense of dread has intensified. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are waiting in the crowded Entrance Hall with the rest of the fourth years for the carriage that will take us to Hogsmeade station.

It's another beautiful summer's day, and it makes me think of what it'll be like in Privet Drive; hot and leafy, flower beds a riot of colour. The thought of it makes me sick.

"'Arry!" a voice calls.

It's Fleur Delacour, hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. I remember how much she liked to complain, and wonder if she's sad to leave, wonder if she'll miss Hogwarts at all. Behind her, far off into the grounds, I can see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime back the two large horses into their harness. The Beauxbatons carriage is about to take off.

"We will see each uzzer again, I 'ope," says Fleur, holding out her hand for Harry to take. "I am 'oping to get a job 'ere, to improve my Eenglish."

"It's very good already," Ron blurts out in a strangled voice. Fleur smiles at him, while Hermione scowls.

"Goodbye, 'Arry!" Fleur says, turning to go. "It 'az been a pleasure meeting you!"

I watch her go, her sheet of silvery blonde hair rippling in the sunlight.

"Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back," Ron wonders aloud. "D'you think they'll be able to steer that ship with Karkaroff gone?"

"Karkaroff did not steer," a gruff voice behind us says. "He stayed in his cabin and let us do all the vork."

It's Krum, who'd come to say goodbye to Hermione.

"Could I have a vord?"

"Oh... yes... all right," Hermione nods, looking flustered, following him into the crowd and out of sight.

"You'd better hurry up," Ron calls loudly after her. "The carriages will be here any minute."

"Oh, yeah, because it's the carriages he cares about," I mutter sarcastically to Harry. "Yeah. Totally."

To prove my point, he leaves us with the job of looking out for the carriages, while he cranes his neck to see what Hermione and Krum are up to. They return relatively quickly, though, and while Ron tries to study Hermione's face, she looks rather impassive, but when we exchange glances, our looks are knowing.

"I liked Diggory," Krum says abruptly to Harry. "He vos alvays very polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang - with Karkaroff," he adds, scowling.

"Have you lot found a headmaster yet?" Harry asks, and Krum just shrugs.

He shakes hands with Harry, then me, then Ron, who looks to be fighting some sort of painful internal struggle.

Krum is already walking away, when Ron blurts out, "Can I have your autograph?"

Hermione and I have to turn away, shaking with silent fits of laughter, only looking back to wave to Krum.

 

The weather during the journey to King's Cross could not be more different than the journey from King's Cross in September; that day there was a storm, today there's not a cloud in sight.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I manage to find a compartment to ourselves. Pigwidgeon is hidden under Ron's dress robes to stop him from hooting continually. Hedwig and Midnight are dozing, heads under their wings, and Crookshanks is curled up in a ball on a spare seat like a furry, ginger cushion. We talk more fully and freely than we have all week as the train speeds us southward. I think Dumbledore's speech at the feast freed us in a way. We break off our conversation only when the lunch trolley arrives.

When Hermione returns from the trolley and puts the money back in her school bag, she takes out a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ that she's been carrying in there.

Hermione notices Harry staring at it, and calmly says, "There's nothing in there. You can check if you want, but there's nothing at all. Just a small piece the day after the third task that you won the Tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric at all. If you ask me, Fudge is paying them to keep quiet."

"He'll never keep Rita quiet," Harry shakes his head. "Not on a story like this."

"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything since the third task," Hermione says in an oddly constrained voice. "As a matter of fact," she continues, her voice now trembling slightly. "Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"I found out how she was listening in on private messages when she wasn't supposed to be on school grounds," she bursts out in a rush, giving me the impressino that she'd been dying to say this for ages, but had restrained herself in light of everything that happened.

"How was she doing it?" asks Harry at once.

"How did you find out?" Ron adds, staring at her.

"Well, it was you, really, who have me the idea, Harry," Hermione says.

"Did I?" Harry says, surprised. "How?"

"Bugging!" Hermione replies happily.

"But you said they didn't work-"

"Oh, no, not electronic bugs," she shakes her head. "No, you see... Rita Skeeter-" Hermione's voice trembles with quiet triumph- "is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn-" she pulls out a large, sealed glass jar from her bag, "-into a beetle."

"You're kidding," I whisper, staring at the jar, for inside are a few twigs, and a large, fat beetle. "You haven't... she's not..."

"Oh, yes, she is," Hermione says gleefully, brandishing the jar at us.

"That's never - you're kidding, Hermione," Ron says, holding the jar up to his eyes.

"No, I'm not," Hermione beams. "I caught her on the windowsill of the hospital. Look very closely, and you'll notice that the markings on her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."

I squint at the beetle, and let out a delighted laugh, seeing that she's right. This is unbelievable.

"There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!" Harry bursts out.

"Exactly! And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after we'd had our conversation by the lake," Hermione nods. "And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the windowsill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."

Hermione takes the jar from Ron, and smile at the beetle, which buzzes angrily against the glass.

"I've told her I'll let her out when we're in London," says Hermione. "I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't just transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself, see if she can break the habit of writing horrible lies about people." Smiling serenely, Hermione puts the jar back in her school bag. I grin at her, positively delighted at this discovery.

"Hermione, you are brilliant," I declare.

The compartment door slides open, and Draco Malfoy stands at the doorway, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. They look very pleased with themselves, more arrogant and menacing than ever.

"Yeah, very clever, Granger," Malfoy says.

I remember their behaviour at the feast, and feel my hand closing around my wand, ready to hex them - you know,  _just in case_.

"So," Malfoy says slowly, advancing into the compartment, a smirk quivering on his lips. "You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbledore's favourite boy again. Big deal."

He looks around at us, smirk widening, and Crabbe and Goyle leer.

"Trying not to think about it, are we?" says Malfoy softly. "Trying to pretend it didn't happen?"

"Get out," Harry says warningly.

Malfoy ignores him. Of course.

"You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to pick your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day at Hogwarts? I told you not to hang out with riffraff like this!" he jerks his head at Ron, Hermione, and I, and my eyes narrow. "Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first one's to go, now that the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first - well, second, Diggory was the f-"

Malfoy had gone too far.

It feels as though thousands of fireworks had exploded within the compartment. Blinded by the haze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by the sound they'd made. I blink quickly several times, before looking down at the floor. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are all lying unconscious in the doorway. Harry, Ron, Hermione and I are all on our feet, each of us having used a different curse. Nor are we the only ones to have done so.

"Thought we'd check out what these three were up to," Fred explains matter-of-factly, stepping into the compartment, wand in hand, George entering behind him, making sure to tread on Malfoy as he does.

"Interesting effect," George says. "Who used the Furnunculus Curse?"

"Me," Harry replies.

"Odd," he says lightly. "I used Jelly-Legs. Looks like those two shouldn't have mixed - he seems to have sprouted tentacles all over his face. We'll have to take note of that. Well, let's not leave them out here, they don't add much to the décor."

Ron, Harry, and George kick and roll Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle out into the corridor.

"Exploding Snap, anyone?" Fred offers, holding out a pack of cards.

Halfway through our fifth game, Harry says, "You're going to tell us then? Who you were blackmailing?"

I straighten up, looking from Fred to George. "Oh," George says darkly. "That."

"It doesn't matter," Fred says impatiently, shaking his head. "It wasn't anything important. Not now, anyway."

"We've given up," George shrugs.

But Harry, Ron, Hermione and I keep on asking, so finally, Fred says, "All right, all right, if you really want to know... it was Ludo Bagman."

"Bagman?" Harry asks sharply. "Are you saying that he was involved in-?"

"No, no, nothing like that," George shakes his head. "The stupid git wouldn't have the brains."

"Well, what, then?" Ron asks.

Fred hesitates for a second, before saying, "You remember that bet we had at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would catch the Snitch?"

"Yeah," I say slowly, nodding.

"Well the git paid us in the leprechaun gold he'd caught from the Irish mascots."

My eyes widen, but Ron just says, "So?"

"So," Fred says impatiently, "it vanished, didn't it? By the next morning, it had gone!"

"But - but it must have been an accident, mustn't it?" Hermione says.

George laughs very bitterly.

"Yeah, that's what we thought at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, explain what happened, he'd cough up. But nothing happened. He ignored the letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he'd always find some excuse to get away from us."

"In the end, he turned pretty nasty," says Fred. "Told us we were too young to gamble and refused to give us the money."

"So we asked for our money back," George continues, glowering.

"He didn't refuse!" Hermione gasps.

"Right in one,"

"But that's all your savings!" I burst out, furious.

"Tell me about it," George nods. "Course, we found out what happened in the end. Lee Jordan's dad had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he's in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang off them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, but it still wasn't enough to pay off his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye out on you. He's lost everything to gambling. He hasn't got two Galleons to run together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?"

"How?" Harry asks.

"He bet on you, mate," Fred replies. "Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins"

"so, that's why he kept trying to help me win!" Harry says. "Well - I did win, didn't I? Now he can pay you back!"

"Nope," George shakes his head. "The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you'd win outright. So he had to run for it. He did run for it, right after the third task."

George sighs deeply and starts dealing out the cards again.

The rest of the train ride is so pleasant that I wish that it would never stop, that we could stay here all summer. But I can't avoid the unpleasant things in my life forever, so of course the Hogwarts Express is pulling into platform nine and three-quarters.

As Ron, Hermione and I struggle off the train with our stuff, Fred, George and Harry stay behind. I fight my curiosity with difficulty, surging forward.

Once we walk through the barrier between platform nine and three-quarters and the Muggle world, I hug Ron and Hermione in turn, making them promise to write and wishing them good summers.

Uncle Gabriel, who is picking up Harry and I, watches in disgust, but I ignore him.

Once Fred, George, and Harry walk through, I turn to Fred and George, hug both of them, threaten them teasingly to write.

"You know we won't," Fred jokes. "Honestly, Knight, when will you learn?"

I laugh, then remember something.

"You said you found out all the stuff with Bagman because of Lee Jordan's dad," I say, and when they nod, say, carefully, "who told you that?"

They exchange confused looks, their smiles amused and confused.

"Well, Lee Jordan, obviously," George says. "Why?"

"How did he go about telling you?"

Now they smirk at each other, and I don't really trust it.

"It seems," Fred says, "that a small dark haired Gryffindor fourth year by the name of Hazel Knight managed to convince him that doing the right thing involved interfering in our private business. He confronted us one day, told us the dangerous of blackmail and all that, said he'd overheard a conversation of ours."

_I knew he knew something!_

"Anyway, we decided that we'd have to tell him, and he told us the truth about Bagman, so it worked out quite well, in a way," George finishes.

"Huh," I say, smiling in spite of myself. "Whatever, just promise me you won't do anything stupid any more."

"No promises," they say in unison, and I grin.

"All right, just make it semi-stupid, then," I bargain. "Not totally full-out stupid."

"Can do!" Fred grins, saluting mockingly.

Laughing, I hug the both of them again, hug Mrs. Weasley, and wave to the present Weasleys and Hermione.

"Harry," Fred says quietly. "Thanks."

George nods feverishly, but Harry just winks at them, turning to go. Uncle Gabriel looks relieved at this, because he'd been waiting impatiently the entire time.

I follow him, giving him a questioning look.

"Don't ask," is all hey says, when he notices that I'm staring at him.

"Fine, I won't," I say, grinning. "Right now, that is. Don't think this is over, Potter."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Knight," he replies, and we put our arms around each other, smiling at each other.

Because in more ways than one, this isn't over. Like Hagrid says, whatever's coming will come, and there's no use in moping around until it does. For now, all we can do is keep marching on and meet it when it happens.


End file.
